The Time of Love and Rogues
by Maizeysugah
Summary: After fools have meddled with time and unintentionally created a more powerful and immortal Dark Lord than the Wizarding World already knew, Lord Voldemort gives himself a gift in his past, a little brother named Harry Potter. TMRHP
1. Relative Theory

The Time of Love and Rogues

TMR – HP

After fools have meddled with time and unintentionally created a more powerful and immortal Dark Lord than the Wizarding World already knew, Lord Voldemort gives himself a gift in his past; a little brother named Harry Potter.

Chapter 1

Relative Theory

With the kiss of bitter cold seeping in through every crack, and flakes of snow gathering on the outer windowsill, it was time to make her leave. Taking a step closer to the front door, Aralias Maxwell slung her bag over her shoulder, and made sure the Time-Turner was set in place. She gripped it in her hand, warming the silver metal and fogged glass as she looked back one more time into the small bedroom she had crept from. Lit only by a candle, she could scarcely make out the silhouette of the woman and the toddler in her arms, lying stock-still on their little bed.

It was for the best. Aralias had no desire to meet the woman's brother. Morfin Gaunt would be returning soon, as his release from Azkaban loomed over their heads. "Good bye, sweet Merope," she breathed, "and good luck. May the world be a better place with you in it." Warmth, despite the frigid cold, distributed evenly throughout her squat and bulky frame. She smiled to herself, stepping out into the brisk, night air, certain she had made an impact, one that would change all things as she knew it. With a flick of her finger, the dials within the small, hourglass-shaped apparatus began to whirl.

-

Numbed from the wintry cold and the haul through time, Aralias adjusted her glasses while she focused on the dwelling she had parted from moments before. The ruins of the House of Gaunt stood exactly as she remembered, and she frowned, hoping for some sort of evident alteration of time. With a deep sigh, she pulled her wand free to Apparate home.

* * *

"This cannot be right. One detail could not cause this much damage."

Dawn rose, revealing a middle-aged man bent over a book. His head was propped on his fist, his bottom lip chewed on while he read. His fascination with history and dark Wizards had caused this blunder. How could he have been so careless to advise his colleague to slip through time and alter such a life-changing event? Clearly, his enthusiasm had gotten the better of them both.

Aralias sat quietly to his side, sipping her tea. Tears trickled down her round cheeks. "I really am very sorry. If I hadn't pushed so hard, maybe… It was the blasted Time-Turner. You know, we should never have used it. If we didn't have it, none of this could have happened. I could go back…let her die," she said raggedly through several sniffles. Her head fell against her chest, and more tears fell. "I couldn't let her die. I won't let her die. You have no idea, Julian, no idea what she's been through."

The man, recreational Historian, Julian Hubbard, turned in his seat to face the young woman. "So what you're telling me is that before you used that gadget to go back into time, Lord Voldemort was dead, long dead, defeated by a boy over ninety years ago? And somehow you and I managed to blunder that all up and change history, giving this man more power than he had in this alternate dimension you claim that you came from? So we've both effectively created some dreadful paradox that has changed our history and doomed our race of Wizards and Witches? Excuse my language, good lady, but how in the hell is that possible?"

"There's no need to be vulgar. We've somehow miscalculated, and our theory is awash. You, yourself, said that you were certain that all the Dark Lord needed was his mummy's love and he would never have become this monster. You were absolutely certain of that. Well, I saved Merope Gaunt's life, just as you asked. I spent the last three years caring for this madwoman and her potential Dark Lord son. I wrote everything down in that journal," she said, pointing to the notebook at his side. She looked through her bag once more for the thick, leather-bound book she was sure she had packed. "It's here somewhere. These damned bottomless bags…"

Julian snatched the journal up. "I never said you were lying about this. This is my penmanship, informing me that all of this is true and to believe everything you tell me. It's just a bit hard to swallow."

Resting the journal on the desk in front of him, Julian read the entry about their research and sources used to equate their theory. "And this book you can't seem to find, 'The Chosen One', by Albus Severus Potter," He inclined his head, thinking. "Is this a relative of Harry Potter's? You did say that it was Harry Potter who defeated Lord Voldemort before you changed history, right?"

"Yes, Albus Potter was one of Harry's sons. Before the time shift, Harry had been a target of Lord Voldemort's. He was the only wizard ever to survive the killing curse. He was—"

"I know who he was, "Julian interrupted, looking irritated as he flipped through more pages, grating his fingernails through his thinning hair. "He was the son of James and Lily Potter, and murdered by Lord Voldemort at the age of fifteen months. Sad tale, really…"

Aralias paled. "He died? Well, he couldn't have. That's not possible. If only I could find it. It outlines all of the details of Harry's and Voldemort's connections. Tell me, did Voldemort kill Harry's parents first? Did he murder Lily before striking Harry?"

"Well, they never found the infant's body, but he never surfaced either. Yes, I suppose Harry was taken off into the night and never seen from again after his parents were slaughtered." Julian sighed. "Obviously, we have discovered another altering in our timeline. You're saying he did not die, and that he went on to have children?"

"He went on, yes! He killed Lord Voldemort! It's very important, Julian. How could Lord Voldemort have defeated him?"

"Well, he was only a baby, my kind woman."

Aralias began to fret. "So Albus Severus Potter was never born… Maybe that's why the book disappeared?"

"The notes in this journal would have changed if that were so. No, I think you've lost it. Perhaps you left it there."

"We have to do something…" Fingering over the Time Turner, Aralias set her mind. "If I had left the book there, perhaps Lord Voldemort read it and learned from it. This is how he knew… Oh my God. I'll have to go back in time again and kill the infant, Tom Riddle. It's the only way we can bring any hope for our future."

The sound of crackling thunder penetrated the walls of the old home and flummoxed both historians. Julian reached for his wand. "Did you hear that?" he whispered. The lights went out, leaving them both in darkness. "—Lumos!—"

A flash of green light filled the room. Julian fell to his demise on the floor. Aralias gasped and cowered behind the desk, hearing footsteps. "My good lady, my Lord pays his respects. He acknowledges that you returned in time and prevented his mother's death, but I am afraid that any hope for altering the future once more is no longer of your concern."

Another blast of magic lit the den with a magnificent shade of green. The soft thud of a body dropping to the ground brought a smile to the man's lips. Moving to the woman's side, long fingers clenched around the Time-Turner that had slipped from her grasp. Placing the silver chain around his neck, the antique gadget dipped down and settled next to another Time-Turner resting on his chest.

* * *

Dragging herself over the floor, Merope Riddle's feet scraped along the caked dirt and fragmented shards of broken glass, remnants of last evening's meal. The distant and familiar sound that had awakened her again pricked her ears. It was coming from the outside, through the front door. All Hallows Eve had come and passed, but there was no celebration for the Gaunts. The two pure-blooded ancestors of Salazar Slytherin no longer mingled with their wizarding kind. 

Quietly as she could, she turned the knob and peered out into the sunlit perfection of the sky. Her sleepy eyes brightened, glimmering as light reflected through the dull irises, and she smiled. "Good morning, sunshine," she said quietly to the world. Then a sound, a small grunting, pulled her attention downward, and her vision captured the sight of a dark bundle of cloth wiggling around on the doorstep. Her throat went dry, and her hands clawed as she knelt down and lifted the thing into her arms.

Worry flooded her veins. She stepped outside with this parcel, finding it warm and feeling it shift against her. It was crying as Tom had when he was an infant. "Shh, hush please, hush," she whispered. If this thing roused her brother, he would surely crush it with a log.

"Mummy?"

Merope gasped alarmingly, clutching the bundle to her breast. She looked down at her side, letting relief sweep through her. Large brown eyes peered up at her, and a small, long-fingered hand tugged at her housedress.

"I've found something special," she whispered with excitement, taking a step further away from the house. "We mustn't wake Morfin, Tom. Be very quiet."

As pale as starlight, the beautiful child closed his fingers around the hem of the housedress. Tom Gaunt gave his mother a curt nod and followed her into the woods. Dried leaves and twigs crunched under his bare feet, catching on the legs of his drab, tattered pyjamas.

Resting upon a fallen log, the sheer elation of this discovery began to build as Merope unravelled the thick, black cloth. Tom moved behind her, peering over her shoulder with shared enthusiasm. Through the trees, a beam of light pooled around them, igniting the brightest of green eyes either of them had ever witnessed. A shock of black hair stuck out in every direction, and a tiny hand reached up to grasp the locket hanging from her neck.

"A baby," Tom breathed in wonderment.

"She's beautiful, Tom. Oh Merlin," Merope said wistfully, trailing a finger along the baby's face and twirling it around in its thick mane of hair. Her plain, worn-out visage crinkled with glee. She flicked a bit of dried blood away from the mark on the baby's forehead, causing the infant to yelp. "She's got a little wound here. Oh, such black hair. She looks like you. She looks so much like you, Angel."

Tom reached out over his mother's shoulder. Long fingers itched to touch the porcelain skin of the baby's face. Tom was not yet four and his other hand still clung desperately to his mother's dress, but he was wise and cunning, and fascinated with this gift laid out for them. His jet-black hair fell into his eyes as he leaned in closer. The infant was wearing blue pyjamas, with the soft material spattered with blood. Tom tickled the whimpering child's chin to get its attention. "She's hungry," he whispered into his mother's ear. He ran a thumb over the pouting lips, allowing the babe to suckle on it for comfort. Feeling his own stomach constrict and growl, he imagined himself to be as cranky as this child if he were as young. "She's hungry, mummy."

Distress returned and cut into Merope's merriment. If she dared take the child indoors, its cries would surely stir Morfin from his slumber.

The sound of breaking twigs cut into the cries. Merope and Tom looked to its direction with startled expressions. There was a man watching them, cloaked and hooded, standing off to their side. Merope pulled Tom around and hugged both children against her. "Who are you?" she whimpered, frightened beyond reason by this shrouded presence.

Taking a bold step, the man lowered his hood. His hair was the colour of silver-lined clouds, long and flowing in the breeze, matching the intense pupils of his eyes. He appeared under the beautiful morning light, glowing like an angel before her. His voice was soft and clear, bringing calm to the tremendously nervous woman. "There's no need to be afraid, my good lady, I am not here to harm you or the children."

The fussy youngster squirmed in Merope's embrace. The material it was wrapped in fell to the ground, wet. The man reached into his cloak and pulled his wand free. He pointed it at the infant. "His name is Harry, and he is now yours, if you will have him." With a light swish, the sodden material of the infant's pyjamas instantly dried.

"Harry," Merope repeated through a savoured breath. She could not take her eyes off of him. This child was hers now. Several coins were thrown at her feet. Tom tensed in his mother's embrace, watching the tall man take a closer step.

"As of yesterday, Harry became fifteen months old." His wand was now pointed at the small kitchen window of the hovel. "I will be returning occasionally to check on his and Tom's progress. _"–Accio book—!"_ A large, leather-bound novel sailed through the window and flew into his outstretched hand. "Love him as your own. Tell anyone who asks that he is your son, that his surname is Gaunt. No one will question this further."

The dark-haired woman with mismatched eyes nodded carefully in agreement.

The angelic man's radiant eyes moved over the setting, taking in the surrounding with a calculated look of disgust. The House of Gaunt was a shambles of a home. It was very hard to absorb that someone so great and powerful had come from such poverty. "Who else resides here? I'll need to alter their memories. Your father?"

"No," Merope replied, cupping Harry to her breast to look over the mop of hair tickling her nose. "My father is dead. My brother, Morfin, is inside. He was released from Azkaban Prison last winter, shortly after my father died. He is dangerous, sir."

This new alteration of time was of great interest to the man. It would have been easy to change so much, fill the poor woman's pockets with Galleons and slaughter the sleeping beast still residing inside the shack, but his goals did not include these things. He would alter nothing more until the order was given.

He had been promised immortality for this immense honour of serving his master. He would not muddle with another thing. A great Wizard ruled their world, in his time, and he would now learn from this new arrival. The future of Lord Voldemort would be recast from its mould, and he would be putting a hand in recreating this history.

"As I've said," he spoke, while turning toward the front door of the small house, "I will be returning from time to time, as adjustments on these children's wellbeing will be necessary. Do not interfere when I do. I will not harm them, good lady."

Merope wanted to believe him. She looked at the ground, at the shiny coins scattered around her bare feet. The cloaked man was frightening and dark, despite his pale, pointed features. Tom had been watching him from under her skirt with keen interest. His hands still clutched her dress, his breath elevated, but his eyes were set with enthral. "It's alright, Tom. He'll go soon," she whispered, watching the man disappear into the home and close the door behind him. A flash of light illuminated the kitchen window, and the babe in her arms nuzzled into her warmth. She had no idea what was happening. Her scrambled, deranged mind struggled to wrap itself around the precious gift wriggling in his arms. Heaven had finally come down to greet her, to kiss her, giving her another child from the man she so dearly loved, and selected this beautiful, dark guardian angel to watch over them. Everything was about to change for the better, she could feel it in the air.

* * *

Exactly four years later… 

_"Bitch, get in here!"_

A crash, and the sounds of rustling and grunting filled the tiny house. Merope lifted Harry out of the kitchen chair and into her arms as she ran into the bedroom. Tensed with fear, she shook her head desperately, dropped Harry onto the bed, and wrenched Tom out of her brother's murderous chokehold.

Tom gasped and coughed as he staggered and dropped onto his bed beside the other. Of the two beds filling the small room, his was against the back wall, farthest from the door. He pulled a thin quilt over his long legs and bent them into his chest. Harry curled into him, circling his neck with shaky arms.

_"He touched my wand! Your dirty blooded spawn touched my things!"_

Merope's head swayed to each shoulder. Her hands were in front of her, held out in a plea to quiet her anxious brother.

Morfin shook out his matted hair from his maladjusted eyes and pointed to Tom. _"Nasty, nasty boy playing with my things, I'll carve him up if he touches it again_!"

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. Tom scooted closer to the other boy to hide him under the quilt. "I'm sorry, uncle," he said regretfully, hating that he was careless enough to rouse the man in his thoughtless manner, and had tripped over the night table.

"It's my fault," Merope confessed. "I asked him to get the wand for me!"

Morfin's scowling face remained centred on Tom. _"Send you to your father, we should. Unclean, useless thing, you're not our sort! Where's my breakfast, wench?"_

With a flighty squeak, Merope jolted out into the kitchen to begin preparing their meal. Morfin followed her out, already forgetting about the boys cowering on the bed.

* * *

Tom was unsure of what to do. Harry was fussing so badly, crying soundlessly in his arms. He mimicked his mother, pulling the smaller boy against his shoulder. "Shh, it's okay, baby," he whispered. He could hear heavy movement in the next room. Morfin was breaking glass and throwing furniture around in the kitchen. This did not bode well at all for anyone. Merope was a terrible defence against her brother when he got more riled than normal. 

"We should go help mummy with breakfast before he comes back and corners us," Tom whispered.

Harry shuddered against him. "I don't want to."

Tom kissed the top of the boy's head. "I'll protect you."

With a deep breath, Harry climbed off of the bed. He was small for his age, with long, messy hair and knobby knees. His clothing mimicked Tom's; they were threadbare and tattered, patched with quilting material. They looked so similar, as if they truly were brothers, and only their eyes gave them away. Tom clasped their hands together with a squeeze, and bravely stepped out into the living area.

_"There you are, boy. It's cold in here, go fetch more wood!"_ Morfin hissed at him, meeting Tom's glare. He was standing by the fireplace and rubbing his hands together.

"He hasn't eaten yet," Merope interrupted, and dropped her head the instant the words left her mouth. "I'm sorry. Tom, go."

"Pointless," the frazzled man growled in English, crossing the few steps it took to make it into the adjoining kitchen. Tom ducked to avoid his weak, swinging fist, and jaunted to the front door. "You're all pointless wastes of space!"

Wrinkled and dirty, the maddened man settled into a chair in front of the table. He dug into his plate, sloshing his beans off the sides as he ate. His thick, overly-long arms leaned on the table. He grunted his distaste through each bite, glaring at his sister and Harry with all of the hatred he had in this world.

Tom had returned with a few sticks, and threw them into the fireplace. "Come sit," Merope said nervously, holding a chair out. With a nod, Tom rounded the table and sat down next to Harry.

_"Weak little dirty-blood—we need more wood!"_ Morfin shouted in anger. He balled his fist and swung out, connecting with Tom's chest, knocking his chair backward. The instant Tom hit the floor, Harry screamed.

_"Shut up, you little runt!" _

"Morfin, stop!" Merope cried. Panicked, she pulled Tom up to his feet. She took the boys' hands and yanked them toward the bedroom. Harry's cries were echoing throughout the tiny house. Throwing the boys inside, she slammed the door behind them.

* * *

_"You belong to me."_

Huddled together on the bed, with Harry tucked beside his body; Tom rubbed the sleep from his eyes as another chilling whimper hummed in brother's throat. He brushed the long fringe out of the trembling boy's eyes and looked out into the dark room. "Shh, it's okay, Har, you're just having a nightmare. Go back to sleep." The painfully thin and sweet-faced seven-year-old stretched his sore muscles and swung his legs off of the side.

The other bed occupying the room, their mother's, was empty.

Tom could not be sure of the time, but remembered that the sun had finally set and both he and Harry had grown sleepy, and very tired of listening to their uncle berating their mother throughout the day. They had been trapped inside of their room since breakfast. The door had been magically sealed. Hungry, thirsty, and feeling a great pressure to relieve himself, Tom risked stirring up more trouble and walked over to it to see if he could leave.

The soft shuffling sound of something coming up behind him caught his attention. "Tom?" Harry whispered, tugging on the sleeve of Tom's shirt. He was more than a head shorter than the tall boy, and was looking up at his brother with owlish eyes. "Can I go too?"

The electric shock of magic crackled under his hand as it closed around the knob. "It's still locked," Tom said sadly. Being holed up inside their bedroom was nothing new to the boys. It happened more often then they cared to consider. Merope thought it better to keep them out of sight rather than in harm's way on days such as this.

"We'll go through the window again," Harry suggested, pulling Tom away from the door. "Can we wait at the water hole till mummy wakes up?"

"Course," Tom replied. He climbed onto the bed and pushed the window glass up, feeling a cool breeze goose his flesh. "C'mere, Har, I'll lower you out. Put another shirt on first, its cold outside."

Harry rummaged through the bottom drawer of their small wardrobe, and tugged two shirts out. He tossed one to Tom. "You put one on, too." He pulled his over his head before climbing onto the mattress. Tom finished dressing, and then helped Harry onto the termite-eaten windowsill. Holding the smaller boy's hands, Tom lowered him to the ground and hopped out behind him.

"For Samhain, it's bloody cold out here," Tom hissed through chattering teeth. He tucked his hands under his arms - and froze as he glanced down at the smaller boy.

Harry's mouth hung open in awe. "You said a vularma…vulmaram…a dirty word. I'm telling mummy."

Tom was fumbling with the zip on his trousers. "It's 'vulgarity', you halfwit. And if you tell on me, I'll box your ears."

Struggling under his shirt to find the buttons, Harry bit his bottom lip in frustration. "I can't do it, and I have to go really bad!"

"Hold still, you bastard," Tom growled, reaching up under Harry's shirt. He ignored the heaving sighs of disappointment puffing like smoke through Harry's nostrils. The cold air misted their breath, and the ground beneath their feet had a thin layer of frost.

_"You're going to turn into Morfin with that talk."_

Rolling his eyes, Tom helped Harry unclasp his overalls while he hopped around in place. _"You silly goody-goody, Morfin isn't the first Parselmouth. He's so thick and dense I'm amazed he can speak any language at all."_

Harry leaned up next to a tree while he emptied his bladder, dejected. "Stop being foul, I didn't do anything to you."

The smell of an early winter was in the air. Winters in Little Hangleton were always rough for them. Standing in the copse of the woods, looking down over the small village, Tom sighed. He knew once winter arrived, he and Harry would have to spend more time indoors than outside. Their skin would pale, and their bruises would darken. The torment of living under such cramped quarters and with such a man created a zone of pure discomfort. He knew he was taking this frustration out on Harry, but he had no one else to take it out on.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said, feeling Harry snuggling against his side for warmth. He put an arm around the smaller boy's shoulder. "Are you all done? Need some help getting your overalls up?" Harry nodded. Shaking the cold numbness from his fingers, Tom threaded the straps over Harry's shirt and buckled them into place.

Now smiling, and pointing over the roof of the house, Harry watched the orange glow of the sun rising in the east. "It'll get warmer soon," he murmured. Looking on the ground with the faint light, he crouched and picked up a few rocks for skipping along the water.

Tom emulated him, searching for the flattest rocks he could find and stuffed his pockets with them. "If Morfin would stop killing all the fish in the pond we could go fishing." He shrugged as he stood upright, giving Harry a gentle push toward the path through the woods. "Or we could throw rocks at the villagers when they start moving about. Maybe we'll get lucky and hit Mr Riddle."

"I'd rather stay at the water hole," Harry said absently. He had caught a glimpse of zigzagging movement in the tall grass and followed it, leaving the path and Tom behind. "Did you see that? There's a snake." Harry loved chasing snakes. It was something he had gotten quite good at over the last year. He crouched down a bit to get a closer look. He dragged a finger along its slender body, feeling each of its scales rippling under the pad. _"Come on little snaky, I won't hurt you. See how soft I am?"_

"Leave it be," Tom recommended, popping a few berries that he had picked from the bush he was leaning on into his mouth, "might not be friendly. Morfin's probably killed all of its family."

Harry kicked at a fallen leaf, grumbling to himself. He got back onto the path, allowing Tom to lead him further into the woods. The path was narrow, winding, devoid of anything but dirt and rocks. Tree branches had been magically cut by their uncle, making the journey to and from the small pool of water they inhabited an easier journey to trek.

The cool temperature made for slow walking. As autumn came into full swing, the sorrow of being unable to swim within the water's perfect body saddened both boys. "I wish we could do something other than skip rocks every morning," Tom mused aloud. "Like… I don't know. We could make a raft and float on top of it."

"That would be fun," Harry said, looking back at him with enthusiasm. "How do you make a raft?"

Walking out into the aperture to the pond, Tom crouched down to give Harry a leg up on one of the larger boulders resting on the edge. He climbed over and sat down next to him while he reached into his pocket to dig out a few pebbles. The surface of the boulder was slick with frost. Tom's tattered trousers did little to shield him from the emanating cold against his bum. "We'd need rope and sticks. Loads of rope. Maybe you could talk Morfin into conjuring up some rope for us."

"Yeah, and he'll hang me with it." Harry shuddered and shook his head. "No thanks. Why can't mummy do it?"

Tom gave off an uncharacteristic snort. "You know she's no good at conjuring up anything. She'd probably turn us both into toads." To that point, he had ignored the magnificence of the rising sun's divine glow reflecting off of the surface of the pool. The radiance ignited the green in Harry's irises and warmed the world around him.

Harry bucked Tom with his shoulder. "You're already a toad." He did not care for Tom poking fun at their mother. Tom had made it clear long ago that he was somewhat ashamed of Merope's poor skills in spell casting. That, as a descendant of the Peverell and Slytherin bloodlines, her power was almost comparative to that of an average Witch, at best. These were merely a few of the insults spewed from their uncle's mouth on a daily basis, engrained forever in the boys' heads. If only that were the only thing that was troubling him, he might be willing to overlook it.

Throwing a small rock into the water, Tom's lip curled in a sneer. He was exceptionally frustrated. Their mother had forgotten about them again, and it was becoming something of a habit. And Harry simply worshiped her. He was so unbelievably naïve about the woman who stood by and did nothing to better their lives. "That ugly Squib couldn't even mend the hole in your shoe, Harry. What are you going to wear once it gets colder?"

"I don't know..." It was so cold already, and winter was on the horizon. Without coats or shoes, their future journeys to the village would prove difficult. Harry threw all of his stones into the pond, feeling a lot less inclined to sit there any longer. "Can we go back now? I'm really hungry."

"Course you're hungry; we haven't eaten since yesterday…" Tom helped Harry off of the boulder, and took his hand. "She should be up by now. Maybe she'll be kind enough to give us a few scraps."

_"Where've you two scamps been hiding—trying to find your muggle father?"_ Morfin Gaunt dropped from the tree in front of the children the instant they stepped foot into the woods, scaring them both witless. Harry froze solid, watching Morfin break a switch off of a branch. Tom pushed the younger boy behind him. _"Ragged, unclean, tainted blood running through your veins, both of you. I'd just as soon snap your scrawny necks as let you back inside."_

The frightened boys tensed their muscles, preparing to scurry. They knew if they ran there would be a good chance of avoiding any punishment. Morfin rarely took chase. He was weakened by his stint in Azkaban, and more often than not, he merely enjoyed taunting the little lads with a slew of psychological cruelty. Tom could feel Harry's tiny fists clench at the hem of his shirt. Never knowing what to expect seemed the greatest terror. Morfin was unpredictable, all the same, and everything seemed to set him off.

Without warning, the switch came crashing down toward Tom. He lunged at the earth to avoid it. Harry tumbled over him, landing on his back.

_"Runt!"_ Morfin growled, reaching out to take Harry by the arm. _"Dirt-veined, Muggle's boy. Can't even grow like a normal child."_

Tom gripped the man's grubby, threadbare trousers to stop him. He was breathless, his eyes watered, and his lip bled from hitting the dirt floor, but he mustered up any bit of courage he had to plead for the small boy's safety. "Please let him go. Please, Uncle." His own words boiled his blood. Pleading to Morfin was the hardest thing he ever did. He wished more than anything that Morfin would shrivel up and die. Maybe when he was bigger and given his own wand, that very thing might just happen. "Don't hurt him, please!"

It was doubtful that Morfin or Harry heard him. Harry yelped as the hard slap across his face knocked his head to the side. Morfin was a heartless, cruel madman, intent on teaching to them how useless they truly were. His hand clamped down over Harry's slender throat, forcing him into silence. _"Hush yourself, little runt. Hush now."_

Lifted off of his toes while Tom scrambled to remove his uncle's fingers, Harry's world tightened and darkened. The little boy's eyes were wide with fear. He clawed at the hand wrapped around his neck. Dimmer and dimmer the sunshine went, as if blotted from the sky. Everything became dark and quiet, until the ground rushed up and hit him in the face.

_"You half-Muggle filth, both of you get inside before someone sees you_."

Harry gulped in lungfuls of dust and air. Dirt had matted with the tear streaks on his cheeks. Seething with anger, Tom lifted him up. This was his brother, his only friend, and he was Morfin's favourite punching bag. Harry's small size made him an easy target for their sociopath of an uncle… but someday, he would pay for what he had done.

* * *


	2. The Fallen Angel

Chapter 2

The Fallen Angel

The cold fall rain pelted the tiny windows of the little hovel-of a home and darkened the evening skies. Enthralled to pieces with the woman nestled on the edge of their bed, the two inky-haired boys lay perfectly still on their bellies with their heads propped on their fists, staring owlishly up at her. Lost in her own reverie, the tale she wove to them was long and winding; words that meant so little to some, but everything to them.

"…and sweet Lady Merope rushed back to her handmaiden, explaining to her that there was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes upon in wait of her. They dashed off to the swimming hole to wash, and dressed her in her finest frocks, and…" The woman paused, waking from her trance-like state and rested the book she was holding on her lap. One of the boys had fallen into a fit of giggles. "What exactly has made you so silly tonight, Harry?"

The smaller boy shifted upward, away from the other. "He's tickling me," he said, and collided with Tom's shoulder as he crashed back into him.

The larger boy gasped, his cheeks turning pink. "Am not. He was giggling, so I gave him a kick."

Harry shook his head. "He didn't kick me, he tickled me…"

"Enough," the woman said, feeling bothered. "No tickling, giggling, or kicking tonight, or we can finish the story another time." The smaller child frantically shook his head and whispered an apology. Tom held a finger up to his mouth and shushed him. A large candle flickered behind their mother, casting her shadow along the wall. It impended over the children, whose feet were kicking around in mid air in wait for her to continue.

Pleased with the silence, Merope Gaunt lifted the book back up to her nose to continue. She was unable to read, but that had not mattered. The words came from within. "So Lady Merope tiptoed away from the House of Gaunt in the most sneaking of manners and ran to meet up with the handsome young man awaiting her arrival at the end of the path. This man, with flowing black hair and the most beautiful smile, sat upon a white horse holding his hand outstretched to her. He lifted her up in a single sweep, kissed her full on her supple cherry lips, and carried her off into the sunset. No more would she be held captive by the evil, wicked Lord of the Manor, and they both lived happily ever after."

The larger of the two children sneered with distaste. "Why do they always kiss?" He stretched out over the bedding, dragging his wiggling fingers up Harry's side. The uncontrollable urge to giggle again bubbled within Harry's throat. "And where are _we_ in this tale? Did you leave us with Morfin?"

"Tom, it's only a story." Merope closed the book and set it on the night table behind her. "Now tuck in, both of you. Harry, get under the quilt, tonight will be very cold."

"But it's still raining… I'm scared," Harry said, peeping at Tom out of the corner of his eye. Night was Harry's least favourite time of the day. So many scary things happened at night… in dreams. He rubbed at his scar, keeping a decent stare locked with his mother. "You said… er… you promised it wouldn't rain all night."

Tom flopped onto his back, annoyed. "You're such a baby, Harry. A little rain never hurt anyone."

Merope bent over and rubbed her swollen ankles to avoid any further eye contact. "I'll be just across the room, darling. If anything frightens you, just call out to me."

Tom sat back up with a start. He was frustrated over this stupid story his mother read aloud nearly every night. The tall tale swam heavily around in his head. The lies… the fantastical lies Merope told were astounding. He could see it in her eyes with every spoken word. "Why does your side of the story always end so happily when we all know how it really ends? And why do you let Mr Riddle tell all of those lies about us to everyone in the village? Don't you see the way they look at us, mummy? What good is magic if you don't use it to punish him for making everything so difficult for us?"

Merope stood from her chair to tuck the children in. Her unfaltering smile gave Harry warmth, but hardly convinced Tom of anything. "Magic is a sacred thing. It must never be abused. Look what happened to your uncle when he flaunted the power so openly. He got three years in Azkaban. Wizards put him there, Tom, not muggles. A Wizengamot decided he would be punished. I won't risk be taken away because of the way one man spews his ugly words. They're only words. Morfin should never have cursed Mr Riddle."

"He got what was coming to him. Should have been worse… he deserves to die," Tom countered. "Just like Morfin. They both deserve to die."

Ignoring the malice in Tom's expression, Merope centred on Harry. "Get to sleep." She kissed his forehead and brushed the hair out of his bright green eyes. "Remember, I'm right over here," she whispered.

Harry closed his eyes and tried not to concentrate on the thunderous booming or thrumming beat of rain water plunking into various pots and pans scattered throughout the tiny home.

"Go to sleep, Harry. I've got you," Tom whispered to him, wrapping a warm arm around his tummy. And as the small boy reluctantly drifted off into the state of dreams, he heard another, stronger voice hissing to him in a tone that chilled him to the very bone.

_"You belong to me, Harry… I own you."_

* * *

_"Help me!"_

Harry clapped his hands over his ears as he sat up in bed. The deafening screams filled his heart with terror. His bottom lip jutted out and tears began to roll down his cheeks.

The morning sun had come all too soon. Light penetrated through his clenched eyelids, making it impossible to shut any of his senses out. Was it another dream? Had he imagined the miserable cries for someone's aid?

_"Please help me!"_

No, it was real. It was so frightening, being roused from a deep sleep to the sounds of screaming. The evident pain and torture this poor creature must have been enduring could not be ignored. Harry dropped to the floor, shaking with fright, and made his way toward the source.

"_Hurts so much…dying! Please, stop this!"_

It was coming from outside. The wails were so close. With his heart stuck in his throat, Harry shuffled unsteadily to the door. It was right outside, just beyond the barrier. His small hand clamped around the rusted knob and turned it. As the door swung open, a hiss filled his ears and the cold brush of death grazed the flesh of his cheek. Harry leapt back in horror, his hand pressed hard against the spot on his face where something had touched it. His eyes caught sight of the thing that had called to him; an adder nailed to the centre of the door.

Pathetically, its body slithered in effort to dislodge itself, chipping the flecking paint from the weather-warped wood in an almost comical manner. If not for the fact that the creature was dying in such agony, Harry might have laughed. Instead, his stomach lurched with empathy.

Turning to him, the snake flicked its tongue and bared its fangs in retaliation.

_"What can I do?"_ Harry asked it while wringing his small hands together. He was barely tall enough to reach the poor thing. He moved over to the table and dragged a chair back to the door. _"I can help you if you tell me what to do."_

_"Pull me off of the nail, set me free."_

Harry climbed up on the chair and took the adder into his hands. He crushed his eyes shut and gave the sleek body a yank, and pulled it away from the nail. The adder immediately coiled around his wrists, sinking its fangs into the flesh of his hand. Sucking in a great breath and with tears springing forth in his eyes, Harry dropped the snake on the ground.

The adder struggled to move quickly through the muddy copse. Harry clutched his wrist protectively, covering the punctures with the tips of his index and middle fingers. He whimpered, feeling as frail and helpless as the snake. _"No venom_," the adder hissed with a dying breath to still the boy's worries as it entered the field of grass at the edge of the woods. _"No venom for a good boy."_

Harry ran back into the bedroom and dove onto his mother's bed. Merope stirred, wrapping her arms protectively around his shaking form. "What's the matter, darling?" she asked him, with worry laced in her sleepy voice.

Harry showed her the wound and told her through a wrack of sobbing about the snake.

Tom sat on the edge of his bed rubbing his eyes. His morning frustration swelled within. Harry was, once again, garnering all of his mother's attention, whimpering and going on about something or another. "Harry, you are the absolute limit. What happened?"

"…but no venom, it said? Oh, Harry, it'll be alright." Merope swiped at the spilled blood on his hand with a tongue-dabbed piece of her nightgown and stood him on his feet.

"Let me see," Tom growled, now standing at Harry's side. He snatched the boy's hand into his to look over the bite. Two large holes below his left thumb seeped with fresh blood.

"Tom, don't be so rough with him," Merope warned him. "Harry is far more delicate than you are."

"Whatever…" Pulling Harry out of the room, Tom dragged him outside through the open door, shoving the blocking chair out of the way. "What did I tell you?" he asked firmly. He was leaning up against a birch tree fumbling with the drawstring on his pyjama bottoms. They were far too small for such a growing boy, but it was that or nothing, and it was growing so cold. "Stop playing with the blasted snakes around here. They don't like us."

"I wasn't playing with it," Harry snapped, sneering at the back of Tom's head. "I pulled it off a nail on the door."

"Hmm, is that what the chair was for?" Tom raised his arms up to stretch. He tipped his head back, letting the morning sun warm his skin. "Morfin nails them there for a reason, idiot. Next time you'll think twice about rescuing something, right? You should have let it die."

Harry sighed. "I think it did die."

Tom shrugged. "Good." He walked over to a thatch of wild brush, parting the leaves and stems with his hands. His mind was no longer on snakes. He was eager to begin working on the raft he and Harry had blueprinted over the last week. "C'mere, look what I got."

Harry watched him lift and sling a large coil of rope over his shoulder. Thick and heavy, it nearly toppled Tom's sylph frame backward. "How did you get it?" Harry enquired with wonder, and glanced over to the enormous pile of sticks they had been collecting.

"Don't ask questions," Tom bit back. "But it's far too thick to tie the sticks together with. We'll have to pull the threads apart by hand and braid them back together so they're flatter." He lugged the rope over to his and Harry's garden fortress; a crude and crumbling L-shaped, waist-high wall made of rocks and cement. The boys liked to hide behind it when the sun got too hot, or the wind got too cold on their backs. "How's your hand? Do you think you can help me?"

Harry clenched and unclenched his fist, feeling a dull ache in the meat of his hand tighten the surrounding muscle. "I think so," he said, joining Tom on the dirt floor.

* * *

Merope looked over her supplies with a furrowed brow. The meal she had planned, had already begun had not been thought out as well as she remembered. She was certain she had purchased everything at the general store the day before, but something was missing. 

Throwing the tiny kitchen window open, she spotted Tom and Harry in their garden fortress, tying sticks together. "Tom, I need you to take Harry and go into town for me," she called, waving at the boys to get their attention. The bright overhead light of meridian-noon blinded her vision momentarily, but she was certain she saw a scowl slowly contort her son's sweet visage. "Did you hear what I said, Tom? Take Harry, go into town and purchase a loaf of bread for me. I've got some coins here."

Sitting on his knees, wearing nothing more than tattered knee pants, the tall and slender boy with shiny black hair shook his head at the woman. "Are you mad?" He exhaled a hot breath, looking up from the ropes he was braiding together. "Go into town - and I have to take the baby with me? Can't you see I'm busy? Why can't you go?"

Harry's eyes shifted over to Tom, narrowed to slits.

"I can't very well leave the stew on the stove and watch Harry at the same time while getting a loaf of bread from town, can I? You're a big boy now, Tom. Come up from there and get these coins before I tan your hide!" she scolded, and thrust her hand out through the open window.

"I know the way!" Harry shouted, dashing from his spot on the ground to gather the pennies Merope had tossed out. The messy curls of inky hair bounced around his pretty face while he hopped up and down in front of the window to garner his mother's attention. "I know the way, mummy! I can go by myself!"

Miffed, Tom ran up beside Harry and snatched his hand. "Course. You'll get lost and eaten up by snakes—come on!" Nearly yanking the boy's arm from its socket, Tom dragged him away from the window and marched them toward the dirt path that led to the main road.

* * *

"What are you filthy little rogues doing back here?" 

Tom gestured hastily to Harry's pocket, ignoring the old maid glaring at them from behind the counter of the bakery. The scent of baking bread and the spice of hot cross buns wafted through the air, calming his nerves. He was not going to let this old bat get the better of him. "Give me the coins," he whispered. The wind outside had severely picked up, and greying clouds rushed in overhead to cover the blue skies. Tom hated the village, hated the inhabitants that ran the shops, and hated being thought of as common or anything less than anyone else.

Little Harry was blissfully oblivious to the torments. People, mostly the elderly women in town, tended to be drawn in by his small size and startling green eyes, overlooking the drab wear of his clothing or lack of shoes. He always got the looks, the smiles, the pinches to his cheeks. Tom hadn't minded that. He detested that their father practically owned the whole town. That everyone suspected that he and Harry were his children, but no one wanted to admit that the man was trash; abandoning them, letting them live like rodents under a bridge. Tom hated them all.

"I asked you a question, boy. Are you here to purchase, or just trying to avoid the rain?" The squat woman's face was pinched with irritation. Her lips were slashed tightly together and her eyes read with piteous distrust. "You and your little bastard brother get what you come for and get out."

Tom dropped the coins on the counter. "Loaf of bread," he said, holding back the urge to hop over the counter and shove his fist up her nose. "Wrap it; it looks like it's going to rain."

With a harrumph, as if this lower form of life could dictate how she ran her business, the woman scowled as her nose turned up to the ceiling. "I only wrap things for good people of the village. Maybe if you run very fast, you can make it home without getting soaked."

"It is truly honourable of you, woman, to speak to this poor child as if he were beneath your heated words. Do as he says: Wrap the goddamn bread up."

Tom turned around, having not noticed the tall and cloaked figure standing in the dark shadow of the shop before. The woman behind the counter huffed with annoyance and fret while tying string around the parcel covered loaf. The man stepped into the light of the darkening room and lowered his hood. His hair was shaken out to flow in wisps over his shoulders; long and silvery-white. "Do you typically speak to all patrons in such a manner?"

"Well I never," the woman exclaimed, thrusting the now wrapped package into Tom's hand.

The man leaned over the counter, taking her by the scruff of her bodice. "I'm quite sure you haven't, you old cow. If you ever speak to that boy again with nothing but pure esteem, I'll carve the eyes out of your head."

The woman gulped. "Get out – the lot of you."

A violent smirk curled the man's lip. He released her and placed the hand on Harry's shoulder. "I have a carriage out back. Let me take you home before the rain comes."

Harry looked up smiling at him. "Does it have loads of horses attached?"

"No thanks," Tom said over him, taking Harry's hand to pull him away from his grasp. He shoved his body against the shop door and yanked it back. He and Harry stepped into the street, feeling the weight of the man's attention looming over them. "Keep moving with me, don't look back," he told his brother. Something was wrong. This strange-looking man was not from the village, but his eyes were keen with Tom's interest in mind.

* * *

The long walk worried Tom to no end. The man was now in pursuit, driving his carriage behind them at a slow pace. Two large horses pulled the fancy carriage the length of the road. If only they could make it to the woods without trouble, they would be safe. Harry kept looking back with wish at the horses; two enormous black stallions in perfect trot, stepping over the cobblestones with timed grace while the man steering them along smiled a toothy grin. 

Tom focused on his frazzled nerves. Perhaps he imagined the way the pointy-faced man was staring at him, or how he smiled so uncouthly at Harry. He could be a pervert, or one of those people who abduct children and sell them into slavery. There were so many horrible explanations fluttering around in his head at the moment. He had to protect himself and Harry, no matter what.

They reached the entrance of the woods. Tom heaved a great, thankful sigh. The sounds of clomping hooves had trailed off minutes back. The man, it seemed, had given up chase. "He's gone," he told Harry as he looked around behind them. "If you ever see him again, I want you to run away… got it?"

"Course, Tom," Harry mumbled, wondering if he should tell the older boy about how the carriage had simply vanished into thin air before his eyes a few moments before. It had simply ceased being there, giving the boy a fright, but he was sure Tom would never believe him.

A crackling _pop_ filled the air and resonated like thunder. Both boys turned, gasping, wondering if perhaps a stray bolt of lightning had hit a tree somewhere close.

The silvery-haired man was now in front of them, having come from nowhere. "Where are your mother and uncle, Tom?" he asked the boy, taking a threatening step closer. "Do they always send you off to town alone?" He was holding a wand and it was pointed at Harry.

"What do you want?" Tom shouted, pushing Harry behind him. "Leave us alone!"

Harry was beginning to understand the fright Tom was experiencing. This was not Morfin, but still another man. No man they had ever met had ever been kind to them. This magic he was using was nothing he had ever seen.

The man was smiling at them again. "So untrusting … That's good. Don't you remember me?"

How did this Wizard know his name, and what did he want with them? _"When I say so, I want you to run back to the house,"_ Tom whispered to Harry, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. He had no desire to find out the reason for this union, and he certainly did not remember ever meeting him before.

Another loud _pop_ sounded behind them. Tom whirled around, seeing a tall, hooded figure standing so dangerously close. The blood drained from his face. They would never make it. These men were coming out of the woodwork for God knows what reason, intent on keeping them from running. Taking a deep breath, he knew he had to do something. _"I'm going to try and stall them. Run away as fast as you can, Harry!"_

_"Not so fast,"_ warned the man behind them. Hidden behind layers of thick cloth, his hand reached out and clamped around Tom's wrist. "Harry's going to run, Malfoy. Do not allow this." The long, spidery fingers that had slipped out from under his lengthy sleeve were as white as snow.

Tom's breath hitched at the frightening sight. "Run, Harry!"

The silvery-haired man dug his heel into the ground and bolted toward the smaller child who had taken off in a sprint. He quickly caught up, grabbed Harry around the waist, lifting him into his arms and propped him on his hip. Catching his breath, he laughed. "Already so fast… You're just a tiny little thing, aren't you?" he commented, giving the boy a small shake. He turned to the other shrouded man, shrugging. "Look at this wild hair."

Harry groaned out and clamped a hand over his forehead. He collapsed against the form with pain-filled whimpers puffing through his lips. So much pain. They were going to die, he was sure.

"Take him deeper into the woods. I don't want anyone to hear their cries," the other ordered, gesturing to the leafy shelter of trees beside them. Tom could hardly move. His body felt weak, drained of all energy. They had caught Harry. They were taking them further into the woods; they didn't want anyone to hear them scream.

The tall, hooded man roughly pulled Tom along with him as he closed the distance between his acquaintance and Harry. They were now standing in a darkened patch of the forest, shielded from any outsider's vision. He reached out, ghosted a caress along the smaller boy's cheek in a loving manner, ignoring Harry's trembling recoil. "He was so lovely, even then. Such a beautiful, sweet boy."

"You remember him now? I mean, then, as a child…?"

The hooded man nodded. "I do now, Draco."

Draco smiled, impressed. "So you were right… So I assume that you remember this moment now, my Lord?"

"Yes," he said.

"Does it go well?" he hoped.

The hooded man shook his head. "No. Get it over with."

Tom watched the silvery-haired man rest down on a stump and situate Harry over his lap. The boy was openly crying; scared beyond belief of these terrifying presences, and his scar was throbbing in pain. Yanked closer toward them, Tom stumbled over a pile of twigs and landed on his hands. The loaf of bread tumbled away. He looked up into Harry's pleading eyes, wanting to console him, to hush his cries and wipe away his tears. "It's going to be okay, baby, stop crying," he implored, hating that he and Harry were so young, so weak and inexperienced in magic, having a mother who should have been out looking for them - but had most likely drifted off into another daydream instead.

Both men were now huddled around Harry, rolling the boy's sleeve up while holding him tight around the waist. The sudden sharp point of a dagger glimmered in a beam of sunlight. "I'll hold his arm steady," one of them slurred in a high-pitched, cold voice while he pulled on a pair of dragon-hide leather gloves. Harry was bravely fighting for his release. "Harry, please try and calm yourself. I need you to remain still. It'll only hurt for a moment."

Draco lowered the blade. "Where do I make the cut?" he said coolly, gripping the child tightly against him.

A bony finger ran along the crook of Harry's outstretched arm. "Right here, in a 'V'. It'll scar."

"Tom!" Harry sobbed loudly. He was nearing hysterics, hiccoughing and wailing as the dagger grazed over his flesh. A gloved hand covered his mouth to quiet him as the blade began to carve into the skin. Harry emitted a muffled scream, and Tom leapt to his feet.

"Please—no!" he cried, feeling the painful press of that hand drop over his shoulder and shove him back down to the ground.

The hooded man produced a phial from his pocket. He held it under the knife wound, gathering the blood dripping off of Harry's elbow. The yellowish liquid sloshing around inside began to swirl and smoke. The colour brightened, and almost glowed red. The man turned to look down at the growling boy at his feet. "Get up," he told him with a firm voice, and held the phial out. "Drink this in one gulp and we'll let the little boy go."

Tom could see the man's eyes from beneath the hood. They were as red as the blood leaking from Harry's arm. _He was a monster_. "And what if I don't?" Tom cried, taking the phial into his hand.

Both men shared an unctuous look. The monster cupped Harry's chin, lifting his head up high enough for Tom to see how frightened he was. "This poor creature could hardly handle another bloodletting. Don't make me force you to drink it. I do not wish to ever know the feeling of being dominated."

"What is it?" Tom asked him, staring in horror at the small glass receptacle. "Will it hurt?"

"It'll…" The man stumbled over his words. He did not know. Strangely enough, the memory of this seemed to cloud up at this very point in time. As the memories of time before this had flooded into his head, they idled now, drawing to it a revelation of sorts. "Most curious… I believe that any remembrance of this event must be carried out in this time before it becomes solidified in my head."

Draco spoke in a low voice. "Make him drink it quickly, my Lord." He was mopping at the cut with a handkerchief while Harry slumped in his arms to suck on his thumb. "We need to take Harry home. He's a lot more fragile than we suspected. He's got snake bites and bruises all over him."

Lord Voldemort raised a hand to his chin. The tip of his finger traced the line of his pursed lips. His mind worked over this troubling matter. After a bit of a pause, he said, "Yes, I see it now… Morfin was a cruel man. But they'll learn from this experience, Malfoy. It'll make them strong." His mind was set. He detached himself from these two children as if they were strangers to him. He had to.

Turning his attention back on Tom, he lowered his hood. The man was completely hairless, as white as a ghost, with slits for nostrils and crescents as pupils in his eyes. He truly was a monster. "Drink."

With a horror-filled gasp, Tom tipped the vial of blood into his mouth and swallowed it whole.

Lord Voldemort gripped Tom by the arm as he staggered to remain standing, feeling the contents of the powerful liquid burn through his insides and penetrate every part of his being. Both of them closed their eyes, letting their heads loll around to adjust to the odd sensation. It wasn't painful, Tom realised. It was more of a soothing narcotic than anything else, streaming through his veins as if drinking a glass of warmed milk. Tom dropped to his knees as he watched the hooded man step away from him and remove one of his gloves.

"I do believe it worked. We shall see," he said, raising a single finger to Harry. He pressed it, wavering, against the skin on the little boy's cheek.

Nothing happened.

Harry was staring up at him in fearfulness with his thumb trapped behind his front teeth. Lord Voldemort dislodged it and kneeled before him, bringing the tiny hand to his lips. "You did very well, Harry. We're going to release you now so that your whore of a mother can clean the wound and take care of you." The fiend lifted the child up and set him on his feet. Harry immediately ran to Tom.

"What I don't understand," Draco said while he flattened the wrinkles on his robes, "is why those two could touch before. They were definitely holding hands."

Tom was listening to everything, soaking it all in. These two men spoke about them as if they had known them forever. It made no sense.

"It's quite simple, really. Tom's soul is still intact. He has not yet murdered. Once he kills, the bond between him and Harry - that _Love Magic_ curse - would then recognise its predator, hence my inability to physically touch the other one. But we have repaired this. There will be nothing between Harry and me now."

Draco nodded. "I see. Well, I'm sure you'd like to be getting back, my Lord. I'll wipe the children's memories and take them home."

Lord Voldemort agreed, returning a nod.

"No…" Tom was aghast. He did not want to lose this revelation, this extraordinary encounter, no matter how peculiar it was. "Don't wipe my memory."

With a mirth-filled chortle, the Dark Lord smiled down at the boy. "I'm afraid I can't have you learning everything too quickly. Knowledge is power, child, but learning it for yourself holds the true force behind it. Don't worry though, your destiny waits. You and Harry are yet too weak to know of this magic. You, Tom, must learn more about love. It does not flow through you as naturally as it does with Harry. He is the key to unlocking this great mystery trapped in your mind. He holds a part of you inside of him. You must protect him; keep him with you at all times. You will come to understand this later… This is my hope."

"But how will I know this is you wipe my memory?" Tom said, pleadingly. Harry was coiled around his thin frame, sobbing against his bare chest.

Switching the dials on the Time-Turner slung around his neck, the Dark Lord acknowledged him once more. "That is exactly why your memory must be cleansed. It is not to know, but to feel. I do not yet feel it inside of me. You care, yes, and your heart beats for this boy, but the purity I seek remains hidden. You do not know the true meaning of love."

Tom clutched Harry against him, catching sight of Draco closing the distance between them. "Why do I need love?" he blurted. He wanted so many questions answered. He was running out of time. Never before had he met someone so unique, so knowledgeable of things that he was so heavily sheltered from.

_"Because, you blind fool,"_ Voldemort hissed, and flicked the dials to return to his time, _"Love is the most powerful magic of all."_

Tbc…


	3. The Little Boy's Crush

Chapter 3

A Little Boy's Crush

Summer 1940

Under a brilliant blue sky, with his eyes closed in peaceful reverie and his fingers gently stirring ripples along the surface, Harry laid stretched out on the float that he and Tom had made nearly six years back. It remained stationary in the centre of the water hole and had been mended over a hundred times. One long leg dangled over the edge, the other was bent up and swaying from side to side. Harry sighed with content. Tom would be returning within the day and nothing in the world meant more to him than that.

It was times like this - the quiet, the warmth surrounding him that kept his meaningless existence stable, and the anticipation of his own impending tenure at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry crept very close. He wondered if Morfin would slaughter all of the owls that tried to deliver his letter, as he had done with Tom's, and whether the tall and long-bearded, elderly man in the eccentric robes would come to deliver it to him, too.

As much as it frustrated and hurt Harry, he did not blame Tom for wanting to go and further his limited education. They had never been to school before. There were a handful of instances, Harry could recall, when Muggles had dared to step foot onto the property and inquire about Tom's and his schooling. It was unthinkable to allow. Morfin had threatened them with violence, and Merope had assured them that she, herself, was educating their needs.

No matter how uneducated they were, the need for infant school never seemed to become a problem for either boy. As if magic itself catered to their disadvantages, everything just came together all at once. Like on a warm summer day over three years back, without cause or reason, Tom had looked up at the front of the village pub, The Hanging Man, and realised that he could read the sign. Harry could read it, too. There was no explanation for this, but Merope had thought it might have something to do with the tiny (and imaginary) elves living within the cracks of their home. Nonetheless, several unexplainable occurrences were always blamed on these mystifying creatures.

His bent leg slowly slipped and fell into the cool water of the pool. His mind wandered off, unable to focus on any one real thing. Tom, Morfin, the village, Mr Riddle's wicked glare and the sharp contrast of his beautiful horse… Harry had grown to loathe the village below. He was not like the other boys his age, or even Tom; he was small, sweet-faced, and waif thin, and everyone took liberties in pointing that out. And the fact that he was as blind as a bat did little to help his pitiable self-esteem. He had taken up working along side his mother in the village for pocket money. He saved every penny, and having nearly enough to purchase a pair of spectacles, he declined putting himself through another minute in town without the protection of his big brother. On such a wondrous day as today, he chose to drift instead… to drift and dream.

"_Harry..._"

Unsure of whether he had fallen asleep or if Morfin was up to his old tricks, Harry sat up with a start and nearly tumbled off of the raft. He pulled his knees into his chest, hugging them as he gazed around the perimeter of the pond. "Morfin?" he called, feeling a cool chill trickle down the length of his spine. "Just lay off, alright?"

The sun had already set. The darker it grew, the more perilous the woods became for Harry. His poor vision and sociopath-of-an-uncle made every obstruction around him a trap. He dove into the water, abandoning the raft to reach the shore and head inside in wait for Merope's return from town. He grabbed his hanging breeches off of the twig he hung them on and stepped into them. There was something out there – something was off.

_"And where do you think you're going, runt?"_

Without turning to see where the man was in proximity to him, Harry prepared himself to run. "I didn't do anything, Morfin, leave me alone." He moved forward, reaching out to part the branches that were seemingly growing and stretching out to cover the passage. These obstacles were not there earlier in the day. Was this even the path? Harry was confused, disorientated from the water dripping into his eyes and the taunting words filling his ears.

_"There's nowhere to run to, dirty-blood. Can't even get through the woods on your own… Where's Tommy when you need him, hmm?"_

Harry's heartbeat had escalated to astounding heights. For the most part, Morfin ignored him altogether. He was not worthy of normal attention, or the strange, eerily-feeling-notice he gave his sister every so often. Harry hated any and all interest Morfin gave either of them. The man was not stable.

"Just leave me alone!"

He put his back to one of the larger trees, feeling the rough bark scratch against his damp skin. This really was the worst time to get caught. His scar was prickling, Tom had not yet arrived, and Merope was away… There was no one to stop this.

Out of nowhere, something hit Harry hard across the face. He pushed away from the tree and ran; the other hand outstretched in front of him to drive back the branches scraping along his skin. A flash of red light hit a tree, close to his head. "Stop it," he whimpered, finding little breath left in his lungs.

Now on the path, Harry ran as fast as he could in order to put enough distance between him and any sound behind him. There was shouting up ahead and a loud rustling to his side. His heavy panting muffled all sound. There was someone standing at the entrance to the copse; a tall silhouette with their arm outstretched and brandishing a wand. "No!" he screamed, throwing himself back to slow his momentum as the dark figure took chase after him.

An arm threaded around his waist, hoisting Harry off of the ground. "Harry, stop—I've got you." The wand, outstretched and shaking, was pointing over Harry's shoulder. He craned his neck, spotting Morfin screeching to a halt on the path behind him. "Stay back! If you even think about frightening him again… I'll… I'll hex your face off!"

It was Tom. Tom was home. Harry threw his arms around the boy, clutching him with all the strength that he had. Tom was home, he was finally home. Everything would get better now.

_"I was only playing with the little scamp, but now you've gone and done it, you pointless lump."_ Morfin raised his wand to the ready and Harry winced in reaction. He felt Tom take a huge breath and tense up.

"Oh, there you are," from behind Tom, the familiar wisp of a voice called out into the darkness. "You're home, angel!"

Tom did not take his eyes off of Morfin. His wand, his breathing was now steady. Hurried footsteps drew closer. Harry exhaled a great sigh of relief, watching Morfin duck and flee into the woods. It was only then when Tom lowered his wand and turned to face his mother.

Nearly tripping over the large trunk blocking their path, Merope scurried around it and took both boys into her arms. "I've been waiting all day to see you. My baby is home… My first born baby. Look how big you are! And so strong! You look so handsome in those robes, Tom."

Tom was still wearing his school robes, and he had, as Harry shockingly noted, grown taller than Morfin.

Absently, Tom leaned into his mother's hug before backing up a step. Harry was now wrapped firmly around his mother's torso while she petted his hair. Both he and Merope blinked owlishly at the handsome young man.

The hapless woman cleared her throat and tipped her head. She was so proud of her boy. "How is school, darling?" With her eyes staring off in different directions and her dull, heavy face covered in charred ash, Tom swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising in his throat. The thick moss covering the outer walls of their home had grown thicker, the grimy windows grimier. The house as a whole was nothing more than a shack, in needing of something very big to knock it over.

Tom gripped Harry by the arm and, pulling him away from her, gave his mother a forced smile. "I'm all sweaty. I had to walk from Greater Hangleton to get here and drag that blasted trunk behind me. We can talk tomorrow, mummy." He took another step back as she came closer. He yanked Harry back to his side. "You look worn out. Go rest, we'll be in bed shortly."

Merope's expression contorted from sheer pride to being wounded as she nodded and made her way to the front door. Harry glanced up at the taller boy with pursed lips. "That wasn't very nice. She really missed you."

"I didn't hear a 'thank you' for saving your bloody life either. Whatever, c'mon," Tom growled, jerking Harry out of place to make haste toward the pond. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on his robes. He pulled them off and folded them neatly over his arm. "I got top marks again," he said snottily, as they entered the opening to the pond and he kicked off his shoes.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You haven't gotten your results back yet, liar." He watched Tom situate his clothing over a branch of a tree, tucking and adjusting them to hang just so. There were strange differences about Tom that Harry had suddenly noticed. Little hairs had grown on his legs, and his silken voice had somewhat deepened. He watched him stepping out of his shorts. More hair… down on his nethers, under his arms; it was everywhere! With a snort of embarrassment for the poor soul, Harry tossed his breeches on the tree and dove back into the pond.

Tom plunged in behind him and broke the surface with a shiver. The cold rush of water attacked every nerve in his body. Harry was in the centre, already lounging on their make-shift raft. As he swam toward it, he wondered if it could still hold both of them. "I don't need them," he said, propping his arms on the edge to look at Harry, "All of my teachers told me. I'm the brightest Wizard they've come across in a long, long time."

Harry raised an eyebrow at this. "Well, I still think you're a right totty - no matter what they say."

"Budge over." Tom pulled himself onto the raft and collapsed next to Harry, grinning. It was painfully jagged on his back, but he didn't care. All that mattered was he was home, spending some quiet time with the one person in the world that he cared for.

Harry could not help but giggle. He was so excited to have someone to talk to again. "So, what do you do at this school besides get top marks?" he asked him, turning on his side to face him.

"I've done other things…" Tom's lips curled upward with a mixture of boastfulness and embarrassment. "I've had sex."

"What? You have not!" Harry wasn't actually sure what sex was. It was an act of some sort; something men and women did in private, behind closed doors. Up until then, at this moment, he hadn't thought of it as anything other than a vulgar word. "I thought only adults did that stuff."

Tom shrugged innocently. "They talk about it all the time in school. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

There was a long pause while Tom waited for Harry to question him further on the matter. The experience itself had been awkward, unpleasant, and downright messy, but now he knew firsthand what sex was all about. Irritated at Harry's dumbfounded gawping, he huffed. "It was fantastic. She's sixteen and in Slytherin, fit, but as dim as they come."

"Sixteen? But you're only thirteen!" Harry cried, aghast.

"Don't you dare tell mummy," Tom warned.

He tried not to show it, but Harry was captivated. This school sounded very iniquitous and frightening all of a sudden. "Are you going to do it again?"

_No._ "Course, loads of times. It appears that I'm very good at _that,_ too."

Harry groaned, unimpressed. "Oh, yeah, course you are."

"Anyway," Tom said, needing to change the subject as fast as possible. It seemed strange talking about the subject of sex with Harry. He wished he hadn't told him. He was completely embarrassed by it, and felt like a fool. "I've been so busy doing research on our bloodlines. The Restricted Section is difficult to get a pass for, but I've managed to squeak in a few times. You just can't take in near enough information in one or two sittings. When you get to school, I expect that cheeky smile of yours to help me get inside more often."

"Sure!" Harry cried, "I'd be happy to!"

Tom reached up and ruffled Harry's wild mop of hair. Warmth flushed his cheeks. There was an indescribably aching need inside to be close to Harry, to touch his wild hair and let him know that he meant something to him. "It's so good to see you again."

Harry made a little noise in his throat and impishly coiled a leg around Tom's. Before the older boy could react, he was swept, headfirst, into the water.

Harry leaned over the edge, giggling uncontrollably as he waited on Tom to surface. "It's good to see you again, too, you hairy ogre!"

The giggles began to die off. The water had stilled but Tom was nowhere to be seen. Harry dipped a hand into it, feeling troubled. What if Tom hit his head on something underneath? What if he were drowning…? "Tom?" he said, pulling himself further over the edge to look deeper into the clear pool. "You alright there, Tom?"

With a great push from behind, Tom capsized the raft. Harry screamed as he fell into the water. Now it was his turn to laugh, long and hard. Harry popped up, throwing his head back. "That was uncalled for!"

"You look like a great drowned rat," Tom teased, wagging his eyebrows at the smaller boy. The warmth had gone, and he had no idea where it had come from. "You ready to head off? I'm freezing."

Harry made some kissing-noises while he wrapped his arms around his chest to hug himself. "A shame your girlfriend isn't here to keep you warm."

"Ugh," Tom grumbled as he made his way to the shore. "She is not my girlfriend." He did not have a girlfriend, or any other friends to speak of. He had… admirers and cronies; people who followed him around in marvel of his blood lines and keen grasp on the use of magic. He was friendly with none of them, although they had never seemed to notice or care.

* * *

"…Gaunt, you coming out, or what?" 

"He doesn't really live here, does he?"

"Nah, this is his uncle's place. He said he had to stay here because his mum's off on holiday."

"Ah, makes sense… What a hole."

"Gaunt, come on already! We've got a portkey waiting!"

The pounding fists on the front door only served to annoy Harry more than he already was. Who were these blokes outside, and what did they want with his brother? Standing on the end of the rickety counter, Harry peeped at them through the kitchen window. He was wearing his new spectacles, catching all of the detail he had always missed before. These two were much older looking than Tom, foul-faced and sneering as they waited. They weren't as tall, but their postures were stiff, their noses upturned in disgust, and their hands were balled into fists with impatience. No, Harry did not like these two at all.

"You!" One of them shouted, catching the quizzical eleven-year-old staring at them. "Who are you then?" Both boys took a step closer to the window, smirks now plastered on their maws.

"None of your business!" Harry shouted back.

The dark-haired one chortled. "Come on out, we won't hurt you."

"Where's your brother hiding?" The sandy-haired one snapped.

Harry frowned at them. "He's asleep. Who are you?"

The dark-haired boy spoke for both of them. "Name's Lestrange, and this is Avery, and that's all you need to know. Tell Tom we're outside or we'll break through the door and tell him ourselves, you little bugger."

"Why don't you just try it? My uncle will hex the teeth right out of your mouth!" Harry slammed the window down and hopped off of the counter. The pounding against the front door resumed impatiently; piles of ash fell into the fireplace. Harry began to believe what they had said. He was sure the door was about to crumble under their fists.

_"What's that noise?"_

Morfin put a hand on Harry's shoulder, giving it a rough squeeze. Harry's knees nearly buckled under the pressure, but he held himself steady. There were very few times when his uncle addressed him without an insult. He was not going to show a hint of weakness during this one. "There're two boys outside wanting to see Tom. I don't like them," he mumbled over the banging.

Turning toward Tom and Harry's bedroom, Morfin hissed, _"Wake up, you useless filth, take care of your business!"_

"Did you hear that? Someone in there's speaking Parseltongue!"

"Blimey, he really is the Heir of Slytherin!"

Morfin flung the door open, and Harry tittered under a hand. Both boys on the stoop nearly jumped from their skins at the sight of him. _"You're not welcome, get out,"_ he said lowly, sending even more frightening signals their way. Morfin was a terrifying individual, completely unhinged; someone you did not want to upset.

"I'm up," Tom called, stretching through a yawn on the threshold of the living area. He was already dressed, wearing a fine-looking pair of trousers and a light cotton shirt. "Close the door; we'll be gone in a minute."

Tom had been home for a month and had yet to stay planted in the house. He left every morning and returned late every evening, and no one, except Harry, seemed to worry about this.

"Can I go this time, please?" Harry implored. Now that Morfin was up, and angry, he wouldn't have time to slip away without catching it from him. That - and he was fairly sure that today was his birthday. Spending a day with Tom, even if those two thugs outside were among them, was something he very much wanted to do.

"No," Tom said simply. "I'll come back early tonight. We'll go fishing."

"Fish are still all dead," Harry returned.

"Then we'll go swimming."

"It's sort of gloomy today."

"Then we'll skip rocks," Tom said in a slow, flat tone.

Harry shrugged it off, hiding his jealousy of those two boys outside. "Fine."

"Right. Well, I'm off." Tom pushed past Harry to get to the door. Morfin had already retreated back into his bedroom, giving Harry a chance to slip away unnoticed. He followed Tom outside, closing the door behind him, completely forgetting about the two arrogant ruffians waiting on his brother.

"Well, well, the little snitch comes out," Lestrange said in a sing-songy voice. "Where's your uncle now, you little pissant?"

Tom looked down at Harry, shaking his head. "I said 'no', Harry. Get back inside."

Avery hitched a thumb at the small boy. "He's coming with?"

"No, he's not. _I said go!_ " Tom's eyes were narrowed to slits as he scolded Harry.

"I'm not following you! I'd rather die!" Harry cried, and took off into the woods with tears welling up in his eyes. Why had Tom avoided him all month? Why was he so cruel to him in front of those two blokes? He ran as fast and as far as he could. It happened to be in the opposite direction of the water hole, but he did not care. All that mattered was that he was as far away from Tom as possible.

* * *

Wearing nothing more than a ragged pair of knee pants, Harry found himself standing in the centre of Little Hangleton's main road. He adjusted his glasses and looked around, wondering which of the shops his mother might be working in today. Merope did various odd jobs for everyone throughout the week; she could have been anywhere. The tears on his cheeks had dried. He grabbed his knees to catch his breath and let the stitch in his side subside. 

The chomping of hooves caught his immediate attention. Harry whirled around with a bright smile. A carriage came to a halt in front of him. The driver; a kindly old man, somewhat acquainted with the boy, tipped his hat. "Morning to you, sprite!" he chimed, giving the boy a wink. He reached down into a wrinkled paper bag and tossed out several sugar cubes.

"Good morning, Mr Hitchens!" Harry caught one in each hand. "Hullo, Matilda," he whispered soothingly, and held a flattened palm out for the striking Friesian to indulge. Her dark coat and luxurious mane were as beautiful as anything Harry had ever seen. The mare nipped at his skin, licking the remnants of sugar glazing it. He held out the other quickly, hoping the old carriage driver wasn't in too much of a hurry. "Am I keeping you?" he asked him, looking over the tail end of the horse.

"Funny you should mention that," he said, scratching his whiskery chin. "Frank's gone to join the war, and the groom is now tending the gardens more than anything else… You wouldn't happen to need work, would you? I was on my way back from meet a fellow about this, but he never showed. I need a stable boy to keep Matilda happy till I can find a permanent replacement. What say you?"

"Work for Mr Riddle?" Harry felt a huge lump form in his throat. Tom hated the man with all of the passion in the world, but Matilda was nuzzling his hand so affectionately, as if to coax him into it.

"He won't even know you're there. He never goes to the stables. I'll pay you good wages, sprite. You're a good lad."

It would be a swift kick in Tom's pants if Harry did this. The idea suddenly felt very, very right. "When would you like me to start?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Hitchens beamed. Harry had a reputation for being a good, hard worker from all of the shopkeepers he aided. The boy was as poor as they came, with the sweetest, unbroken spirit he had ever encountered. "Hop on up here," he said, patting the empty seat beside him. "I'll give you the tour. Matilda will need a bit of rest anyhow."

Harry climbed into the carriage without hesitation and looked at the man with slight worry. "Just as long as Mr Riddle doesn't know, okay?"

The man patted Harry's knee. "Don't worry that little head of yours."

* * *

"Maybe we can get the stableman to teach you a thing or two about riding. What do you think so far? Interested?" 

With stars in his eyes, Harry was in a dream-like bliss. He was surrounded by four large, beautiful beasts and had never felt more at home. He gave the man a curt nod. "I'd love to."

Hitchens cocked an eyebrow and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Mighty proud of you, sprite. I reckon it took a lot of nerve coming up here to the Riddle House, knowing what that man's done to your mother."

"I can't tell her, or Tom… or Morfin. They'd murder me," Harry confessed. "It doesn't matter; no one cares where I go anyway. So, what do I have to do?"

With a knowing nod, Hitchens grabbed a pitchfork and placed it in Harry's hand. "Cleaning the stables, grooming the beasts, giving them exercise, feeding… that's about it."

Harry gripped the wooden handle as if it were made of solid gold. "I'll do my best, sir."

"I know you will, Harry," he replied.

* * *

For the first time since his return, Tom walked into an empty home. The sun was hanging low in the sky; with yellow and orange hues bursting through the kitchen window. His mind began to wander. Morfin was always gone around this time, doing whatever he did to keep his simple mind occupied. Merope was probably on the road, returning from town. Harry, on the other hand, was always home by this time getting things ready for supper. 

Tom looked into their room to be sure it was empty. He stashed his wand and changed into a faded and patched pair of shorts. Maybe Harry was back at the water hole. It had gotten quite warm, and Tom had promised to return early enough to skip rocks with him.

A thought occurred to him as he walked through the front door. It was the thirty-first of July; Harry's birthday. He was now eleven years old. "Oh, stupid," he groaned, slapping his forehead. It was no wonder now why Harry was so dejected when he was not allowed to go with Tom. He would have to make it up to him.

-

Strangely enough, Harry was not at the pond. He was not in the woods; he was nowhere to be found on the grounds. Merope was sitting at the kitchen table rubbing her swollen ankles when Tom returned to the house. Morfin was hanging outside in a tree. Neither had seen hide nor hair of Harry all day.

"Don't you think someone should go look for him?" he murmured, gazing at his mother with intent.

"I'm sure he's fine—hand me that pot on the shelf," Merope replied. "I'll start dinner, I guess. He'll turn up, trust me."

The words _'You must protect him; keep him with you at all times.'_ flooded Tom's head. He did not fancy not knowing where Harry was. He took the pot from the shelf and slammed it on the counter. "What if your imaginary guardian angel came and took him off? What if your little elves decided to carve him up? Maybe those vagabonds you see every so often kidnapped him and sold him to the drifters! What's wrong with you, you fucking lunatic? Why aren't you out there looking for him?" Tom had never shouted at his mother before, but the anger he felt could no longer be contained. It was gnawing at his insides. He could not believe how blasé this woman was acting, and the thought of losing Harry was killing him on the inside.

Merope froze in place, stunned by her son's bitter words. "Tom, did you just say…"

"Forget what I said! Where is Harry?" He had to stop her before she could scold him for using a vulgarity in front of her. That should have been the least important thing in the world! He was far too upset to care, and if her squeaky voice reached his ears one more time, something very bad was going to happen. "Today's his birthday and we all forgot!"

Morfin cackled under his hand as he stood in the doorway. _"Funny that."_

Lowering her head in her hands, Merope began to weep. It was the loud, annoying wailing Tom had heard all of his life and had learned to loathe it as much as anything else in this ghastly shoe-box of a home.

_"Weepy, weepy, old maid Merope,"_ Morfin hissed, and cackled again.

Fed up with the laughter and crying, with his mind spinning out of control, Tom shoved Morfin out of the way and ran outside, aimed at finding Harry. He ran to the direction of the road Harry had; he might have gone to town.

* * *

Harry's bright green eyes flicked toward the shadow of someone walking toward him. Without even thinking, he knew who it was. There was a fury in the other boy's step, a sense of heightened emotion that emanated from him like an aura. Tom's hands were in fists, his back was stiff, and he walked a straight line toward his younger brother. 

Gripping his upper arm and looking him over in the moonlight, Tom's nostrils flared. He could smell the wet, awful scent of straw. Harry was also covered from head to toe in filth. "Where the hell have you been? Do you know what time it is?" The bitterness of his words slipped out before he knew he had spoken them.

Unlike his mother, Harry gritted his teeth and jerked out of his embrace. "I need a bath. I don't care what time it is," he replied, and kept walking.

"Gods, why are you such a bastard?" Tom cried, running to catch up with him.

Harry whirled around, mimicking Tom's fuelled anger. "I am a bastard, Tom. Mummy said it herself - Mr Riddle's not my father. So call me whatever you want, I don't care!"

Tom nearly laughed. He was about ready to burst. He wanted to pound Harry's face in for being so goddamned daft. "She says a lot of inconceivable things! She said she wasn't your mummy neither… you going to believe that one, too? She's fucking mad, Harry! If you haven't noticed, you and I are the only two sane people in our home!"

"Oh yeah? Well I waited all year for you to come home and all you do is ignore me! If they're so mad, why did you leave me with them?" Turning on his heel, Harry stomped off.

"I was doing research—Harry, wait!" Tom stopped dead in his tracks. It wasn't research that had kept him away, although it had been extremely useful. It was the reddening cheeks and sudden shyness that developed each and every time he caught sight of the smaller boy. He hated that feeling, it was uncontrollable and troublesome. It had been better to avoid Harry than to figure out why it was happening. He just wanted to run away and hide from it.

"Oh, come on," Harry said, waving the taller boy over to him. They clasped hands and that dreadful bashfulness soared through Tom's veins once more. Harry seemed completely unaware to this, and Tom thanked the heavens above.

Ignoring the urge to part hands, he focused on the stench radiating off of Harry instead. "You smell like a barn, you know."

Harry swung their arms back and forth while he skipped along. "Good, get used to it."

"Oh, yeah…so er… happy birthday, Harry," Tom mumbled under his breath. He had finally adjusted his self control enough to hold Harry's hand in his without breaking a sweat. Whatever this virus afflicting him was, at least it could be guarded with enough willpower.

"Thanks," said Harry through a giggle. They reached the path toward their home, neither wanting to enter. Harry pulled his hand away and pointed off to the east. "I'm just going to go clean up. I'll see you later." As quick as he could, Harry got up on his toes and placed a tiny little kiss on Tom's cheek. "Oh, and that's for saving my bloody life last month. I never did thank you for that."

Feeling like a love-sick puppy that so desperately wanted to follow him, Tom mentally kicked himself to keep from moving. The spot on his cheek where Harry's lips had touched him was on fire. "Course. Hurry back, dinner's probably done."

The soft, dark curls framing Harry's pretty face bobbed with his nod. His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them back in such a graceful manner. He turned and dashed off and was gone, and Tom's heart skipped a beat. Pushing it away, he walked to the house he hated, to sit among the two people he could not stand, but all was right in the world because Harry was finally home.

* * *


	4. Hide and Seek

Chapter 4

Hide and Seek

Late May 1943

_"Do not let him release what dwells within the chamber."_

A flash of pain overcame every sense. Harry pressed the tips of his fingers to the scar on his forehead.

"Harry, get up, you're on my jumper."

_"He must never unleash the monster."_

"Have you gone deaf? Wake up!"

Harry blinked out of his reverie and looked up at the pretty-faced girl standing over him. Her expression was a bit hard to read; she was always sneering, always angry. "What?"

Sighing, Walburga Black, Quidditch Captain and all around impossible nag, tugged on the sleeve trapped beneath Harry's body. "You've been doing that stupid daydreaming all month, and it's getting very annoying. Our final game was a shambles. How you managed to knock O'Hare from his broom and get the Snitch is beyond me…"

Harry propped himself up, releasing the jumper. "Sorry, 'Burga, I've been thinking on stuff is all…"

"I certainly hope it's about the last match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Do you know how important this is? Have your brother find a way to put McGonagall out of commission… I mean it." Walburga snapped the jumper in Harry's face, frazzled by his lack of interest. "If Gryffindor wins the match—they win the cup! If McGonagall… Oh, Merlin's beard… she'll never let me hear the end… I don't even want to think about it!"

As much as Harry loved Quidditch and as good as he was at being a Seeker, his mind was as far away from the sport as it could possibly be. He was glad Slytherin's season had ended. Minerva McGonagall was a challenging Seeker, hard working, practiced, and completely devoted to her craft. Getting someone to sabotage the match for Gryffindor was not something he would consider. He wanted so badly to win the cup for his house, but he could not wrap his mind around that… not when Tom had changed so much over the last few months.

Had he really changed so much? Or was it Harry that had gone through another emotional bout of self pity for being left in the dark? His third year at Hogwarts had been a stellar one. He was making good marks, he was the champion Seeker for Slytherin's Quidditch house team, and he was the adorable little brother of the Tom Gaunt; the handsome Prefect every teacher and student alike wanted to be close to. So why couldn't he feel good about that? Why did everything seem so strange? "Yeah, I'm right on top of that," he said to the fuming sixth year as he pushed himself off of the couch.

The opening to the Slytherin common room was suddenly filled with a dozen male students moving into the room. Several boys were clamouring around, quite giddy about the subject they were speaking of. Harry ducked down to avoid them, not wishing to be seen.

"Stop, come out, I saw you."

Harry cringed, being spotted and looking like a fool for hiding behind the big, green sofa. He stood up, locking eyes with the tallest boy in the centre of the crowd and shook his head. "Can't. Got this thing I need to do." A couple of the boys surrounding Tom snickered, a few others sneered. None of them cared much for Tom's little brother outside of being their house's best Seeker in decades. Harry was annoying, always niggling on his brother to do the right thing. He was a complete goody-goody and right prat.

A hand clinched around Harry's arm and Walburga leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Don't forget about what I told you. Get him to curse her or something."

"Right," Harry said, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. At the time, on his first day attending Hogwarts, he was so proud to have been selected to be a part of Slytherin. It was an honour, his namesake, his right to be among the most cunning of the lot. His dorm mates weren't horrible, and Tom had never smiled as much as he had that day. It was very rewarding to be next to him again, to be so close to one another. Unfortunately, all of that changed so quickly.

Lucretia Black ran up amongst the mingling of males and threw her arms around Tom's neck. "I've been waiting all day for you to get back! Have you thought on taking me on that date yet?" she asked loudly, letting the whole common room know that and Tom had something going.

Harry looked her up and down, gnashing his teeth. There were too many children with the surname of Black in Slytherin to keep track of, and there was always one of them flaunting themselves at Tom in front of everyone else. To Harry, it was a disgusting show that he wanted no part of.

Tom coolly removed the girl's interlocked fingers from around his neck and straightened himself fully. "I need to talk to you," he said, giving Harry a fixed look. He glanced around at all of the Slytherins surrounding him, and added, "Privately." Instantly, all of the people began to dissipate.

Lucretia flattened the rumples in her skirt as she walked away. Passing her without notice, Tom wandered up to Harry and gripped his arm where Walburga had only moments before. "Follow me to my room."

A flush of unexplainable hot blood soared through Harry's veins. Tom was so incredibly in control of all aspects of his life, it was hard not to admire his commanding presence. He was, and always had been, number one of Tom's circle, and that suited him just fine. "Course," said Harry.

* * *

A letter was tossed on the large four-poster bed that Harry had hopped on. "Take a look at that. Have you been teaching her how to read and write?" 

Tom's dormitory room was much larger than Harry's. Harry loved flopping around on his softer bed and filmy sheets. The deep emerald greens of the curtains were embroidered with silver threads in the shapes of tiny stars that twinkled when the lights went out. The walls were painted in luminous darks in patterns of star formations. The ceiling was covered in enchanted clouds. It was inviting, dreamlike, a second home to him. But no matter how luxurious it was, all of the dungeon rooms were bitterly cold. He shivered from the chill, wishing for that nice warm summer that approached to hurry its way.

The letter was flicked toward Harry, smacking him on the arm. "I know it wasn't Morfin, had to be you," Tom added.

"Who, mummy? A little bit, yeah." Harry picked up the letter and carefully unfolded it. The sad, barely legible scrawl nearly brought tears to his eyes. She had written her first real letter and managed to send it off. He was so proud. He looked up at Tom, who was standing over him folding his robes. "She really wrote this?"

"Mhmm." Tom crawled into the bed and tucked his hands behind his head as he stretched out over the length of the mattress. He did not look happy. "She's getting worse. She made a potion and plans to use it the next time she visits The Hanging Man. She's going to slip it into someone's drink. You know what that means, don't you?"

"No," Harry said in all honesty. He looked over the letter again while he curled up against Tom's side for warmth. The words 'Hanging', 'Riddle', and 'potion' were legible enough, which began to form a picture of what she was trying to articulate. Harry dropped his head on Tom's chest to look at him. "You think she's made a Love Potion to seduce Mr Riddle again."

Tom took the letter and folded it up, then stuck it back in his pocket, ignoring the beads of sweat forming on his brow. Despite the frigid temperature in the room, his skin was radiating with heat. "More than seduce, Harry. I think she's lonesome, or wants another child… or both. You do realise what she and Morfin have been doing when she sleeps in his room… Even you aren't that purblind. She's been trying to have a baby with him."

Harry grimaced. The thought of their mother raising another child in that home was daunting. He did not want to believe what Tom was saying about her and Morfin. "That's not true, you letch. She wouldn't do that."

"You're so stupid, Harry. Pure bloods do it all the time. Why do you think there's so many Slytherins with the surname Black?" Tom asked him.

Harry's jaw dropped. "They're all related? But they can't be!"

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to preserve purity. If you were a female, you and I… would most likely… You know the Slytherin bloodline… well…" Tom stopped himself from finishing, and blushed with a solid shade of crimson.

Harry could hardly believe his ears. "We'd make babies too?"

Tom shrugged, looking off at the wall. "Yeah, sure. There's nothing wrong with it, Harry. It's all conjecture about the taboo of being interbred. I mean… mummy and Morfin are… okay, I admit that they are the exception to the rule." After trying so hard to remain sensitive, he and Harry both snorted openly. They fell in a heap of giggles and intertwined limbs, very glad they would not have to pass their mutated genes along to each other's future offspring.

"I've been thinking on this all day," Tom continued. "I don't think she's able to have more children, however, or she would have had another by now. I've written her back, asked her to wait until we come home so we can help her."

"We aren't going to, are we?" Harry asked, shocked.

Tom nudged him in the ribs. "Of course not, you daft idiot. I'm hoping to Obliviate her from the idea. Now, there's one more thing I need to say, and I won't take no for an answer… and don't look at me like that. I don't want you to go back to that job when we get home. You spend too much time on it and I need you to stay close to her, keep an eye on her so she doesn't so anything stupid."

Harry's eyes were narrowed to slits. Tom was always trying to find a way to control his life. "I like my job," he snapped. "You don't have anything to do, you don't work—you stay home with her."

"Being a common little stable boy for pence a day? You really fancy that…? That's so you." Tom sighed, wishing Harry could understand that he would take care of him from now on without him ever having to lift a finger. He just needed more time to set everything right. "I have plenty to do over the summer, and I have money now. C'mon, I'll buy you a new broomstick if you do this for me." He hugged Harry around the shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

It was then that he felt it; touching the smaller boy, having him wiggling around against him in such a way was getting him very hard. His erection began to strain against the zip of his school trousers while his mind finally wrapped around the realisation as to why. He was sexually attracted to Harry – a boy – his brother… his little thirteen year old brother. Tom rolled off of the bed, stunned by this self-discovery, needing some distance between him and Harry as fast as possible.

"—I have to go—"

"Where are you getting all of this money from? You're doing criminal things with those awful blokes, aren't you?" Harry was lying on his stomach now tugging on the leg of his brother's trousers to keep him from fleeing again. "Don't you walk off after throwing all of this rubbish in my face. Where are you getting all of this money?"

Tom pulled away. He was so tired of explaining his reasons without actually giving Harry any explanation. The boy would never understand what he was trying to do. "That's neither here nor there. Those _awful_ blokes are helping me achieve some of my more difficult goals; making a profit from it is an added benefit. And what about you?" He pointed an accusing finger in Harry's face, turning the tables. "Your marks have gone down!"

"In Arithmancy — so what?" Harry bit back. He collapsed on the bed as if the subject had sucked out all of his energy. "It's just one subject. Numbers aren't worth bothering over."

_God, he was so pretty…_

Tom backed up, trying his best hide the obvious signs of arousal behind his robes. His hands fumbled with the material, willing the call of eros to quiet. This was not the time for Harry to take notice. "Arithmancy is very important. Do you think Grindelwald ignored Arithmancy?"

Harry rolled his eyes, bit his tongue, and mentally prepared himself for another lesson on just how amazing Gellert Grindelwald, the dark Wizard spewing his desire for Wizard supremacy in most of Europe, really was. Tom was fascinated with him. Harry thought he was an absolute bore.

Tom shrugged sarcastically. "Sure, you could take mummy's route and have her make you a Love Potion so you can find yourself a nice, rich muggle wife to settle down with, too, if that's what your goals are. Why not quit school altogether while you're at it?"

"Fine, I'll try harder," Harry promised, hoping to put an end to the Grindelwald conversation before it fully took off. He grinned up at Tom then, giving him the cheekiest smile he could muster. "Help me study it for my finals next week?"

Tom smiled back, melting on the spot. He always hated leaving on a bad note. "Course."

"Hey, Tom?" Harry mumbled, having only just remembered the moment before he had entered the common room. "I had another one of those er… those visions."

"Were you sleeping when it happened? Was there pain?" Tom sat back beside the boy to look him over more carefully. "What happened this time?" A small trickle of blood had coagulated at the very edge of the lightning-bolt shaped wound. He pulled Harry into his arms and wiped it away, frowning.

Harry told him what the voice had said. He could feel Tom tense up fully around him, as if the cryptic words meant a lot more to him than they did Harry. "Does that make any sense?"

Tom closed Harry's eyes for him as he rocked him in his arms. "You look tired, baby; just get some rest, alright? I'll stay with you till you fall asleep." Harry gave him a weak nod, and within minutes was snoring softly against his neck. Tom sat there in quiet contemplation while he rocked him. The Chamber of Secrets would, for now, remain unknown. These visions, the voices speaking to Harry, were warnings. They had yet to lead Tom astray.

* * *

After stepping out of the ornate fireplace, shrinking his and Harry's trunks, and shaking hands with Mrs Rosier for allowing them to use the Floo Network, Tom waved a flat good-bye to their house mate, Druella. She was in Harry's year, she was very pretty and always had googly eyes for his little brother. It boiled Tom's blood something fierce, but that wasn't going to stop him from getting them home quickly. "Thanks again for allowing us to your fireplace. Getting from London takes hours the old fashioned way," he confided to the older woman. 

"It's really no problem, Tom," Mrs Rosier said flirtingly. She was leggy and blond, filthy rich, and newly widowed. "You're more than welcome to use it on your return to London in the fall, and whenever you want after." She leaned up against him and flicked a curl out of his eye.

Tom gave her a warm smile in return. "Thank you very much, madam. We'll probably take you up on that."

Druella walked Harry to the door while she and he gaped at the obvious philandering going on between the others. Girls of all ages were always throwing themselves at Tom, and for some odd reason it was really starting to bother Harry. Druella, on the other hand, who was the spitting image of her mother, only seemed to have eyes for the littler version. "Come visit me this summer," Druella whispered in Harry's ear, and put a small kiss on his cheek.

Harry blanched. "But I've got a job…" he mumbled awkwardly as he opened the door. His mouth hung open as he touched the side of his blushing face. "Er… bye, Druella."

The small blonde girl giggled under her hand. "Bye, Harry!"

Tom filed out behind, giving Harry a push. "Come on; let's get moving before the misses asks us to stay for dinner again."

-

There was pure silence between them while Tom's mind wandered along all of the things he had discovered over the past year; everything Slughorn had mentioned about Horcruxes, old Albus Dumbledore's connections to Grindelwald, not to mention Grindelwald's interesting speech about the war with Germany, the brilliance of discovering the existence of The Philosopher's Stone, and the possible use of harnessing and strengthening the liquid that was extracted from it. And if it could be done - would it be as powerful as he hoped? Could it be something he could consume without growing dependent on? These things were so important to him, and completely useless and loony to Harry.

_Harry…_

Every fleeting thought disappeared as he looked down at him, noting the blush on the smaller boy's cheeks as they walked along the path past the main road in Greater Hangleton. "What's with you?"

"Now you ask—Druella kissed me!" Harry blurted, pointing to his left cheek. He had been dying to say it since they'd left. A kiss, a real kiss, his first kiss! "Just here… with her lips."

Tom's eyebrows shot up into his neatly combed fringe. They would not be using the Rosier's fireplace ever again. That was that. No one was going to touch Harry that way, or any other way. Tom scowled openly at the pink-cheeked boy and gave him another shove forward toward the woods. "Stay away from her, she's a slut."

Harry could sense that his brother was irked, and it enthralled him to wonder as to why. What did Tom care if some random bird had kissed him on the cheek? It was just a little peck, so unimportant on the large scale that was kissing. He said nothing for a long while, contemplating on why his older brother, who had had sex - of all things - would be so opposed to someone touching their lips to him.

"No, she's not. Orion said she's a virgin."

"Hmm?" Tom looked down at Harry again, baffled. He had drifted again, shoving the awful thought of someone kissing Harry into the back of his mind. "What are you going on about?"

"Druella Rosier, you stupid git," Harry said in a low growl. Had he already forgotten about it? "I thought… never mind."

Tom's scowl returned. "Are you going to start up with that again? She. Is. A. Slut. She's got a reputation, everyone knows about it… even Orion. He only defends her because he's fucking barmy about her. You should take that into consideration, he is your friend after all."

Harry pulled his robes over his head and balled them up in frustration. It was hot outside and Tom was making it worse. "What do you know about friends? Your little followers that chase you around all day are… they're all disgusting if you ask me—not friends at all. When are you going to tell them that mummy is really our mother and that the home we live in is really our home? Or what about our Muggle father, hmm? When are you going to—"

Tom gave Harry a brisk shove to shut him up. "I thought we talked about this. There is no Muggle father, and our mother is off on permanent holiday. We never speak about the truth in front of them. They aren't worthy of it. They're so fucking simple minded and blind to blood status even though being the Heir of Slytherin greatly surpasses any part of their pathetic pure-blood heritage. Just being a half-blood, to them, makes me half of what they are… and I won't have that."

Harry was rubbing the spot on his arm where Tom had laid into him. "I think you should be proud that you're smarter, more powerful than they are with only half the magical blood." Through a sniffle, he added, "I'm proud of you, Tom."

A swelling mixture of guilt and pride fluttered in Tom's belly. He stopped Harry from walking by cupping his face. He brushed over the spot where Harry had pointed and claiming the kiss had been placed, feeling an urgent need to clean it off.

Harry's wide, brilliant green eyes blinked rapidly. He clenched them shut and sucked in a deep breath as Tom brought his lips toward him, kissing the very spot that Druella had.

"There," Tom said in a small voice, "Now you've been kissed by someone who loves you, and is just as proud of you."

Harry tittered with embarrassment. He had no idea why this new kiss was so perfectly important to him. He cupped his own cheeks, feeling them burning under his palms. "Thanks, Tom."

Little black spots hindered Tom's vision. He was dizzy with a slew of new thoughts flummoxing his already addled mind. Digging his fingernails into his thigh to stop himself from kissing Harry again and again, he pushed on. "Think nothing of it," he murmured. There was a spring now in both of their steps. There was a need to get home and settle, to begin the summer and adjust to the horrors or Morfin and Merope, to be themselves, and to have fun.

* * *

Merope danced around the kitchen table, looking like the daintiest of old, worn out fairies. She was holding a jar of healing salve in her hand. "Come sit, baby-doll, I'll fix you all up," she cooed, patting the chair in front of her. Working in the stables had completely floored Harry's upper body. His muscles ached something fierce. He wasn't sure how much longer he could handle the pain before his body grew accustomed to the tiresome manual labour once more. 

The clomping of horse hooves sounded through the window, catching Harry's attention as he moved toward the chair. He watched his mother carefully for a reaction, but there was none. Tom must have done a spectacular job at removing the sinful thoughts about Mr Riddle from her mind this time; she hadn't mentioned him once since their return.

Her long, thin fingers slid along a few of the nastier welts etched on the boy's back as she massaged the gooey salve into his muscles. She sighed as anguish contorted her heavy features. "Oh, Merlin, look what he's done to your body."

"He doesn't bother me much anymore," Harry replied. That was not exactly true, but he felt his mother had enough to worry about. Morfin had played a bit of a prank on Harry only the evening before on his return trek from town. He rubbed the lump on his scalp unconsciously as he thought about how hard his head had collided with the dirt road.

Tom was already gone when Harry had woken up. As with every other summer before, Tom's avoidance of their mother, their home, and of Harry was inevitable. Pulling his shirt on, Harry stood up, adjusting his glasses and thanked his mother. "I'll be home late again. Don't wait up, alright?"

Merope rubbed the excess glop on her apron while she looked out of the grimy kitchen window. "There's a storm coming in, Harry. Maybe you should stay home…"

"Silly, there's not a cloud in the sky," Harry teased, looking over her shoulder. "Besides, what harm can a little rain do?"

* * *

_"—Lumos!—"_

Walking into the dark and unclean house, Tom groaned as the tip of a wand lit up the room and that irritating banshee's shriek filled his ears.

"Where have you been?"

All he had to do was survive one more month of this waking nightmare. He would be turning seventeen by the end of the year and had saved up enough money to get him and Harry a place somewhere closer to Wizarding London, and farther away from _her_.

"Why aren't you asleep yet?" was his apt reply. It was hot; the temperature had exceeded any that he could remember. And he was so tired after a long day of research and experimentation, he just wanted to fall into bed and drift off into a deep sleep. Merope was sitting in the filthy armchair by the fireplace looking dirty and sweaty. Her housedress was covered in ash. Tom's nose crinkled in disgust. "What have you been up to, hmm? Were there more of your elves trying to get through the chimney?" He walked to his bedroom and peered inside. His and Harry's bed was empty.

"Puffskeins, not elves! Go find your brother," Merope ordered threateningly. Her breathing had grown hot and heavy, her hands curled over the arms of the chair, and her mouth was down turned with an ugly frown. "He should have been home hours ago. Where have you been? Why aren't you watching him properly, Tom? He's just a baby."

Tom bit down on his tongue and gripped the frame of the doorway to remain in control. She was right, as loopy as she was; Harry was far too young to be out there alone at this hour. "Yeah, where is this farm he works at?" He would go find Harry, drag him home if he had to and make sure he never went back. Enough was enough. Merope simply could not handle being alone for long periods of time anymore.

His own will was faltering on the matter. It gnawed at his psyche with little rat teeth. His mother was just sitting there, staring at him as if he were the Devil himself. There was a putrid smell wafting under his nostrils from a pot in the kitchen. He could hear the thunderous snores of Morfin resounding out from the other bedroom.

_One more month of this hell hole_…

The front door opened and closed, and Harry stood at the threshold looking between Tom and his mother. "Why are you still up? I told you I'd be late, mummy." He looked clean but still carried that awful wet straw smell in with him. He gave Tom a knowing wink.

"Ah, there you are, baby-duckling," Merope said through a relief-filed sigh. She got up from the armchair and patted the boy's arm. "I can go to bed now. Good night, boys."

Tom gaped back at her. It was unbelievable how much Harry's presence affected her mood swings. He turned to Harry, shaking his head. "It's really late. You shouldn't be walking home alone from town at this time," he advised him, but Harry merely tossed him a silly grin. They both swallowed hard, watching their mother drag herself into Morfin's room and close the door behind her. Tom shook the vile imagery from his head. "Come on, let's get some sleep."

* * *

"It's far too hot to be laying this close by you," Harry grumbled, shifting to his side to face Tom. "You're getting me all sticky. You're a hair-covered sweatbox. It's disgusting." 

Tom laughed with mirth. "I'm getting you sweaty and you're stench is making me feel quite unwell." On the contrary, it felt perfect to be lying next to Harry again. The room itself was tiny, barely large enough to enchant the bed to an acceptable size. He might have cared at Hogwarts, but here, this close to the beautiful boy, feeling his warm breath cascade over his collarbone; Tom did not mind at all. Wearing nothing but their breeches with the small window propped opened by a book, everything seemed eerily pleasant at the House of Gaunt. "We could hit the water hole," he suggested, propping his head on a fist to watch the full moon reflect its brilliant glow over the tops of the nearby trees.

"Course," agreed Harry, finding any position he shifted to be very uncomfortable. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and began feeling around the floor for his clothes. His glasses were already positioned on his nose, slipping toward the tip with each stretched movement.

Again, that strange tingle began to spread throughout Tom's being, watching Harry's sylph form bent over and glistening with sweat, illuminated by the pale moonlight. He had grown so much, yet was still so delicate and smallish. The curve of his body, the messy hair hanging in his eyes, the slight muscles contracting with every change of position, fascinated Tom. Harry was gorgeous, absolutely stunning to look at. "We don't need clothes," he uttered loudly, and nearly smacked himself for thinking such thoughts. Merlin's beard, Harry was his brother.

With a shrug, Harry stood up and tiptoed to the door. He cringed, hearing the mattress creak a bit too loudly for his tastes and held a finger to his lips. "For the love of the stars, do not wake Morfin up!" he hissed. "He's ready to skin me alive as it is. Be as quiet as you can, troll."

Tom rolled out of bed, grinning with sarcasm. "Just cast a silencing spell on the room, you bunny. Anyway, if he makes one move toward you, I'll hex his hands off."

"Not supposed to use magic outside of school. I'm not the secret rule breaker—you are." Harry turned the doorknob while watching the taller boy sneak up behind him. "You'd really do that? Hex his hands off?" he asked, still grinning, and snuck out into the dark living room.

Tom was behind him with a hand on his shoulder, leading Harry toward the front door. "You better believe it," he whispered back.

-

The grass crunched under their feet, bleached and dried out from lack of rain. Both boys ran, panting and sweating, pushing their way through the thatch of trees and reached the crooked dirt path. They ran until Tom could run no more. He leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He watched Harry's silhouette disappear as the path took a sharp turn, and sighed as the wonderful feeling and sinful thoughts crept back through his body and mind. He tipped to his side, dropping his forehead against a birch tree and laughed humourlessly at the irony of falling in love with his brother when he found it so repulsive to think of his mother and her brother doing the immoral courtship that they did.

"He's only thirteen," he told himself. "Okay, nearly fourteen, couple of days give or take… oh God, and he's so handsome… and my brother…"

_"Are you going to stand there humping trees all night, or are you coming?"_ The angelically-evil hiss of Parseltongue sent cruel shivers down Tom's spine. Harry peered at him from the path, giggling manically. He had soused himself in the water, and stood shimmering against the backdrop of the indigo sky. "Get a move on, you old cow!" He turned and ran, and Tom forced the wicked imagery away as he pulled himself up to stand.

A splash rang out through the trees. Tom trudged through the nettles and bramble, wishing he would have worn something on his legs. The pond came into view soon after. He stood at end of the trail in a daze, basking in the magnificence of the scenery. It did not look how he remembered it the summer before. It had only been a pond then, but now with waking eyes, it held a beauty, an ethereal perfection he was blinded from before. Long, braided vines of willow trees swung lazily in the breeze over the moonlit pool of sparkling water. Lily pads bobbed with the ripples. The whoop of a crane called in the distance, and Harry emerged in the centre of the pool, throwing his head back to get the hair out of his eyes. "There you are," Tom hailed, letting a smile creep up on his lips.

"Oh, it's fantastic, Tom, get in here!" Harry squalled, splashing handfuls of water like a child in Tom's direction as he stepped into the water. "Don't forget to take your pants off!"

Glancing at a bush beside him, Tom eyed Harry's little white breeches dangling from its thorny prunes. His brow furrowed, and heated breath puffed from his nostrils. This test was growing more difficult than he could handle. There had to be a cure for this affliction of finding another boy attractive, but he had yet to discover one. "We can dry them off with magic, Harry. There's no need to swim nude."

Harry shrugged, oblivious to Tom's meaning and submerged himself once more.

With a grunt of vexation, Tom dove headfirst into the water. He broke the surface, trembling from the sudden temperature change that washed over his skin. He pushed the fringe out of his eyes and rubbed the nape of his neck, adjusting to the drizzle running down the length of his back. His toes dug into the slimy base of the pool as a soft breeze kissed his chest. With a loll of his head, heaven had been achieved.

"Thinking about that tart again, git?" Shock stirred Tom from his contentment, feeling fingers curl around his neck and a foot press into the back of his knee. He was pulled under before he could react, submersed completely as Harry coiled around him. With a thrust, he shoved up and surfaced with Harry clinging to his back.

After several deep breaths, Tom pursed his lips.

"I'll bet you were wanking," Harry whispered in his ear, arms and legs wrapped solidly around his waist and neck. "Letch. Did I interrupt?"

"Utter rubbish, get off," Tom hissed. Harry was making kissing noises against the shell of his ear, his lips so close; he only had to turn his own head a notch to touch them with his mouth. The tingle returned. Warmth grew from Tom's pelvis, feeling this body so connected to him. An all too familiar stir began to harden him despite the mental fight to hide it. _Wrong, wicked, immoral..._ "Really, Harry, let go!"

Teeth nipped and latched onto Tom's earlobe. Harry growled lowly before pushing off and away from him. "I hope the birds don't do that to me when I'm sixteen," he sang, and Tom whirled around in fret, certain that some part of Harry's leg had grazed his crotch as he untangled himself. _Oh my God, he knows…_

"Do what?" he cried, gaping at him and covering his erection with both hands. The last thing in the world he wanted was for Harry to know he had aroused him. The boy was naïve, but not half as thick as most.

"Turn me into a bore," Harry replied while floating on his back. "You're so dull, Tom-Tom. I'm shocked you didn't bring a book in the water to study."

Relief washed over the older boy. He released the breath he was holding and settled back into the water. That cure had to be out there. He hated avoiding Harry this much, but it was a necessity. "I'd rather be dull and not a runt—like you," he jested, knowing how deeply the remark would get under Harry's skin.

Harry stopped floating and stood waist-deep in the water. "Is that so?" he said darkly.

Tom could feel the anger building, and realised he had probably missed some sort of recent quarrel between Harry and Morfin with his late returns home. He threw his hands up and headed toward the shore. "I'm going back, tired," he grumbled. He did not want to row with Harry in the middle of the night, in the middle of a pond, without any clothing on.

He pulled himself out of the water and began the trudge back to the tiny house. Less than a minute later, Harry was beside him, hiking his breeches up on his hips. "Do you really think I'm a runt, Tom?" he egged, "You can just say it, you know. Runt or no, I can take it."

Tom kept his eyes on the path. There were so many things he thought of Harry as, but 'runt' was not one of them. "I don't think you're a runt. I didn't mean it."

"Are you taking mummy to town tomorrow? She asked me if I'd go help her with the wash and all that, but I've got my own job to do." Harry's mind worked so mysteriously, Tom mused. He was hot one moment, cool the next. He truly believed that Harry had already forgotten the ill name he had called him moments before.

"Course," he replied with a snort. "I could do that. Mind you, after tomorrow I won't be around much again. Got my own things to do."

Harry looked down at his feet, hurt, but an eerie howl cut through the woods, giving him a start. He gasped; already spooked from thinking about those awful Slytherin boys Tom preferred to spend his time with, and the knowledge that Mr Riddle had spotted him in the stables earlier that day. He reached out and clutched the older boy's hand. "Are we almost back? I can't see a thing."

Tom looked downward at the boy. "Where's your glasses?"

Harry bit his bottom lip as he halted his steps. "I left them back at the pond," he groaned, looking behind him.

"I'll summon them when we get back," Tom soothed, squeezing Harry's hand with reassurance.

With a grin, Harry nuzzled against his side. "Thanks. You think of everything, you know that?"

Sadly, he only wished that were true. Everything going through Tom's mind was naughty and un-right. The beautiful boy with glowing-green eyes and rubbing up against him was driving him slowly mad with lust. Pinching his thigh, Tom yanked Harry forward as he pressed on. "It's nothing," he whispered as they reached the copse of the woods. "I'd do anything for you."

* * *

AN: Thanks to everyone for the very kind reviews! I'm sorry this took nearly a week to get out but the flow was, and still is, giving me a problem. The next chapter needs a "minor" warning to it. It's just some over-the-clothes stuff, but Harry's still quite young. Again, thank you so much, I hope this part doesn't disappoint! Please let me know what you think! 


	5. Bitter Relations

Chapter 5

Bitter Relations

Ralph Hitchens wrung his hands in fret as he made his way to the stables. The sizable walk felt far too short, suddenly. He was responsible for this blunder. He should never have allowed Cecilia to get as close to the stables as she had, thusly spotting little Harry Gaunt tending to her animal the day before. The recent widow, pining to reacquaint herself with the divorcee Tom Riddle, was a downright filthy snitch. "Sprite," he said in a low voice, looking shifty-eyed as he approached the boy walking one of the horses around the paddock. Harry looked up at him with worry, knowing immediately that Mr Riddle had, in fact, spied him as he had thought.

Halting the young roan and giving it a firm rub under its chin, Harry waited for the man to reach him before bolting off into the woods for fear of hearing the worst. He loved this job, loved the horses… "Am I being dismissed, sir?" he asked him, seeing the truth in the man's sad blue eyes.

Hitchens sighed. "He wants t' talk to you, actually. You don't have to, Harry. I know the man's no good and he frightens you something awful." Tom Riddle was a man of little honour, a low-life dirty sonofabitch in his eyes. His unfortunate parents had raised a right monster, spoiling the boy rotten. "I wouldn't blame yea if you legged it, sprite. I can tell him you weren't up for it."

"I'm not afraid of him." Handing the old man the lead, Harry walked over to a water barrel and splashed a handful of cool water onto his face. He wiped it off with a handkerchief to clean himself up. With his posture straight and his hair slicked back with his fingers, he took a deep breath. "Point me the right way, please?"

Ralph took the boy by the shoulder and steered him toward the back gardens. "Keep your chin up, little one. He's just over there sunbathing."

"Sunbathing? Who has time for that?" Harry nearly laughed despite the tight knot his stomach had found itself bundled in. He tried to swallow down the hard lump in his throat, and made his way to the back of the manor.

-

"Here he comes. My God, look at those clothes…"

"Quiet, Cecelia. Ah, there you are, Harry. Come over here for a moment, need to speak with yea," Riddle said, propping himself on his lounge and lifting the sun visor from his eyes to gaze the scrubby boy over. He was wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks that showed off a great deal of leg. He looked to be as tall as Tom, just as handsome, and utterly enthralled with taking in every single inch of Harry's unclean form as he approached.

Cecelia pulled back her curled auburn hair from her shoulders and giggled untimely as Harry puffed out his chest to prepare himself for the confrontation. She stretched out along her lounge chair, showing off her beautiful swimsuit-clad body. Harry had never seen a woman dressed in so little before. He blanched and looked away. "Tom, he needs a thorough hosing down before he gets any closer."

"Right—a good hosing down," Harry repeated through a sneer. He centred his attention on that man resembling Tom. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Tom Riddle smiled with the air of fortune and grace that Harry had seen only once before on another human being. Now he understood where his brother had gotten these wonderful attributes that seemed to have skipped him. The man radiated with charm. "How is your mother, Harry? And your brother, how's he getting on? What's his name again? You know, the tall boy. Does your mother feed either of you, you're both about as scrawny as a rail post."

Harry just stood there staring at him. He had no desire to indulge the man with idle chit-chat.

Cecelia had snorted under her hand at the gall, as if Harry was so far beneath them that ignoring Riddle's questions was an act of treason. "You should answer your father when he asks you a question," she snapped. The side of her lip was curled upward with distaste but her eyes softened as she took in the young boy's delicate features.

"He's not my father," Harry returned without looking at her. He could not take his eyes off of this man who looked so much like Tom. Erasing a few lines around his eyes and a bit of greying at the temples, they could have been twins.

Riddle chuckled darkly. "Of course I'm your father, boy. That old witch has told me on numerous occasions. '_Oh, look at our beautiful son, my love! Come home, come home to us!_' She should be jailed for what she's done… stoned, burned at the stake."

Harry raised an eyebrow in wonder. Could it be true? Tom seemed to believe that this man was his father, but Harry had never been truly convinced. It felt strange and wrong to consider it. Riddle had abandoned them regardless, and was not worth even this conversation. Harry's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, making it impossible to articulate any decent comeback. "I er… I don't think you have any right to speak about her that way. She's told me herself that you're not my—"

Riddle stopped the blabbering with a raised hand while he looked back at the woman beside him. "Celia darling, why don't you take Harry inside and get that change of clothing we purchased for him? Get him all cleaned up and dressed properly for our outing."

Blinking rapidly, Harry took a step back. "Outing? I'm not going on any—" Cecelia was on her feet and grasping his arm before he fully understood what was happening. Her grip tightened as he tried to remove it. "Get your bloody hand off of me," he grunted, feeling her long fingernails dig into the flesh.

"Oh, he's got a foul little mouth on him," Cecelia hissed. "I've got a mind to take him upstairs and wash it out with soap."

The elder Tom stood from chair, looking fiercely down on Harry. "You are going, Harry, you're my son. I have every right to take you on an outing if I wish to do so. And never speak to a lady with those vile words again. Do I make myself clear?"

"This is kidnapping," Harry stated bluntly. The woman coiled around him, preventing any sudden flight to safety. Riddle was now standing directly in front of him. His smile was wicked, evil. "I'm not going anywhere with you disgusting Muggles! My mother will turn you both into—"

Cecelia gave Harry a little shake to shut him up, but Riddle quickly pulled the boy out of her grasp. He held Harry by the shoulders as he kneeled down to his level. "Now, now, Harry, this isn't meant to be anything unpleasant. I merely wish to take you with us on our picnic. We want to get to know you a bit better, is that so wrong? You may leave when we are finished."

He was being forced to go, but could leave once it was over? Yeah, he could handle that. That didn't sound all that difficult. "Fine," Harry said breathlessly, sloughing the man's hands away from his shoulders. "Do I get to keep my job if go with?"

Riddle smiled again, baring his perfect white teeth. He glanced up at the woman behind the boy, giving her a wink. "Of course you do. I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

As the sun began to set and another long day of study came to an end, Tom walked the nettled path from the road toward the copse of land where his home stood. A spiral of steam billowed out of the tiny kitchen window, catching his eye. He instantly caught the most seductive bouquet of water lilies and old, worn parchment from books in the Restricted Section at school. He inhaled deeply, basking in the arousal. For a brief moment, he lost himself in the feeling of floating on air, the spectacular allowance of drifting away into bliss. 

Shaking it from his head, he pushed the front door to his home open and rounded the table. Taking the locket dangling around his mother's neck in hand, he pulled the batty old witch away from the bubbling cauldron on the stove. "What have I tell you about brewing Amortentia inside, mummy? Do you know how dangerous this stuff is? It's splattering all over the walls. What if Harry were to accidentally swallow some? For Mordred's sake - what if Morfin did?"

_"What if I did what, you useless dirty-blood?"_ Morfin was looking over his shoulder from the armchair.

Merope squeaked and pulled the chain out of Tom's grasp as he fixed a scowl on his uncle. She lifted the cauldron up and headed to the door, nearly tripping a half dozen times on her way out.

Tom's hand itched to grip his wand. He had not laid eyes on Morfin since his return and had little want to stay in the same room with him. There would be trouble if the wretched, matted-haired monster mentioned one more word about his blood status. "Mind your damned business," he replied matter-of-factly, studying the man's movement as he slumped back in his chair. Morfin appeared… defeated, fragile, aged… which only fuelled Tom's lust to cut him down. "You're pathetic."

_"The little runt won't use magic to defend himself yet. I've got to teach him a lesson somehow. Should'a seen what I done to his head."_ Morfin held up a hand, showing Tom the black stone ring of their ancestors perched snugly on his middle finger. _"He's got the Peverell coat of arms permanently dented in his skull. Broke it open like a melon, I did…"_

With every last bit of self control fleeting and a fire of hatred that burned so deep for his uncle consuming his being, Tom had his wand drawn and pointed at Morfin in a manner of a second. His dark eyes narrowed in loathe. _"—Crucio!—"_ The word slipped from his lips - and it was so unbelievably luscious to say. Tom watched in delight as his uncle seized up on the chair, twitching and screaming, and he laughed as he had never laughed before.

Merope ran back inside and grappled Tom's arms, breaking the curse. "Never, Tom, no!" she cried in panic. _"Never—no—never!"_

Shoving her off, placing his wand in his pocket, Tom brushed the hair out of his eyes to observe Morfin's recovery. The effects of the spell seemed to do the trick. The man could hardly catch his breath. "It must have been excruciatingly painful, no doubt," he murmured through a smirk. "I trust we won't be bothering Harry again, will we?"

Morfin gave Tom a nervous shake of his head.

"And you…" Tom turned on his mother, glowering. "No more Love Potions brewed anywhere around the house."

With a whinge, Merope nodded.

"Right, well," Tom said in a lighter tone while he shrugged his robes off and folded them over the back of a kitchen chair, "I think I'll tuck in early. It's been a long day."

* * *

Sitting in the back of the finest looking motor car Harry could imagine ever existed; he bolted out of his seat and tapped the driver's shoulder to catch his attention. "Please, right here, Mr Hitchens. I don't want anyone to see me." He had already changed out of the extravagant clothing Mr Riddle insisted on whenever he made Harry tag along with him and Cecelia, replacing them on the leather seat of the Bentley in a folded stack. It wasn't embarrassment of being seen in the wealthy man's car or in his clothes; on the contrary, it was fear. He was afraid of betraying his mother, his brother, finding himself nearly enjoying his and his lady friend's company. 

Whether it was attempted brainwashing or an honest endeavour at making amends for abandoning them, Tom Riddle was not as vicious as everyone had made him out to be. His persistent gift-giving and coaxing of Harry to stay on a night in his manor whittled away at a large portion of his hatred for the man. And Riddle's parents were kind, doting individuals who tried desperately to fatten the waif-thin boy up a bit. Even Cecelia turned out to be quite the equestrian, taking it upon herself to teach Harry the basics of riding. Harry did not trust them fully, but he did not fight back anymore.

"Are you sure, sprite? I can take yea right to the path," Hitchens informed him, but Harry made for the door, shaking his head. The elderly man pulled off to the side of the road. "You be back here bright and early now. I'll be waiting on yea on this spot. Mr Riddle insists you join him and Riddle Sr. for breakfast and a walk through the gardens."

Harry laughed. "I'm never going to get to see the horses again at this rate, am I? At least, not like I used to." He climbed out of the car and shut the door, and leaned into the open window to thank the old man. Muggles. There were so many Muggles thrust into his life now – and not near as bad as he thought they would be. "I miss them. This is all so new and strange for me."

"Now that Bryce is back from the war, the groom is taking good care of the beasts for yea; you haven't got to lift a finger. Don't you worry on having a bit of what's coming to yea, sprite," Hitchens replied. "I wish Mr Riddle'd consider looking in on your brother, but I suppose that's beyond repair now, eh?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry said with a cringe. "If Tom knew… gods, I need to stop going before he finds out. I don't want to think of the tar and feathering he'd do to me. Riddle is poison to him."

* * *

The relentless summer heat and threats of air bombings had kept Tom at home more often than he liked. All of London was preparing for the threat of another Blitz. It did, however, put him to the test of all boundaries of his will. Fortunately, he had discovered a way to work up a resistance to these disastrous wants and desires for Harry by simply taking care of the issue whenever it popped into his mind. 

With a Silencing Charm in place over the bedroom and the door closed tight, Tom leaned back into his pillow and sighed with content. His hand moved slowly down the path of his bare chest, the tips of his fingers trailing lightly across the taut skin. He slid them under the elastic of his pants. They grazed along the length of his arousal before claiming it fully. His heart beat rapidly under his ribcage as the soft pads moved, stroking the silky hardness to its rhythm. Fuck, it felt so good to let go and give Morfin a taste of his own medicine. And then Harry… God, he was so gorgeous, so fucking right for him. If only things could be different.

"I am Lord Voldemort," he whispered through the silence, simpering at the iniquity of his earlier actions. He loved the way it sounded coming from his own lips. It was only a shame he had to keep the façade of the perfect student at Hogwarts. Taking the surname of his father and combining it with his first and middle, he had come up with what he thought was a brilliant new title.

Riddle. That bastard Muggle would pay for his crimes later for flaunting himself around in front of his poor, maddened mother day by day with his wealth and disgust for her. He was not worthy of breath. He and Harry would see to that when the boy came of age.

The thoughts that plagued him now enhanced the euphoria of his actions. Images of the pretty little boy flickered in his mind. His breath was shallow, his eyes closed. The vision; messy hair, golden skin glistening with sweat, the brightest of green eyes under the thick brush of onyx lashes… His dainty hands and shapely toes, the dip of his navel, and contour of his blushing-pink nipples… The upturn of his nose, his pillowy lips, the soft line of his jaw… So beautiful, so right for him…

The door to the bedroom had opened, missing his notice.

_"Harry…"_

_"Yes?"_

Tom sucked in a great breath and pulled his knees up while tucking his hands behind his back. "Christ, Harry, what are you doing home so early? You should knock before entering closed doors!"

"What's wrong, did I scare you?" Closing the door behind him, Harry plucked away at the buttons of his shirt. With each peel of his tattered clothes his skin became more exposed to Tom's vision, feeding his appetite for completion. "I need to lie down; I fell off a horse this afternoon. Mordred but it hurts like nothing other." He dropped onto the mattress to nuzzle with his older brother. "Why are you in bed so early… or home for that matter? I thought you weren't going to be home much anymore."

All of the blood drained from Tom's face and pooled back into his groin. Harry was far too close to him. "Er… shops closed up early. There was a curfew put in place, there was an air raid warning or something."

Rubbing the ghastly bruise on his thigh, Harry draped his long leg across Tom's bent knee for leverage. He was rubbing it, touching it, poking at it with a finger, massaging the muscle in such a way… "How bad does it look? The muscle will seize up tonight, you wait. I'll wake up screaming."

"Okay, enough—geroff," Tom groaned, unable to take his eyes off of the shapely limb dangling over his knee. The skin was so golden, stretched taut over the firm muscle basked in moonlight. He shoved the leg off, exhaling heavily. "Where've you been all day?"

With a huff, Harry rolled over onto Tom and pinned him to the bed. "At work, idiot, where do you think I fell off a horse from?"

"I told you to geroff," Tom said in a panicked warning, fearing Harry could feel his still rock-hard member trapped between them.

Harry slapped his hands away and gripped his wrists, pinning them over his head. "No, make me," he taunted, grinning from ear to ear. He dug his knees into the bedding, locking them at Tom's sides. "Ooh…It's too late to hide what you were doing now, I felt it. Who are you thinking of?"

_Oh, please no…_ Tom attempted to will his arousal away. But feeling Harry this close and watching his little pink tongue play along his lip only made it worse. "I'm not thinking of anyone. You know damn well it happens to all men. There have been plenty of times when I've caught you with—"

"Oh, so you're a man now. Ha! Is it Walburga? Gods, please tell me it's not her. She only fancies you because you're a Prefect. Maybe it's that girl with the glasses…I'll bet you like them smart and near-sighted… Or—Minerva! Ah, yeah, I'll bet it's her." Harry was closing the distance between their faces as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against Tom's. He was rocking over him, looking fractious; addling the friction and focus that Tom had fought so hard against. He was teasing him on purpose. It was clear now that Harry was jealous. _Jealous._ "Whoever they are, don't let them take you away from me like those blokes at school do. I don't think I could stand—"

Tom turned the tables, forcing Harry onto his back. Kneeling between his thighs, Tom overpowered him quickly. He took his slender wrists in one hand, shoving them over his head. _"No one will ever come between us, Harry—you're mine."_

Harry gasped at the shift in power, finding himself in the exact position he had his brother seconds before. He was quite out of breath and staring into Tom's eyes with wonder. Before he could think of what to do or say, Tom's nose was touching his. His eyelids fluttered closed and his lips parted in a sigh. Yes, he wanted Tom to kiss him.

There was no turning back, no stopping himself now. Tom pressed his lips against Harry's. Their soft tongues touched; timidly, at first, then scraped along the other with stringent need. Harry's chin tipped up, offering his lips and his tongue to the older boy's demands. He felt the hard press of arousal against his thigh as Tom cupped him at the nape of his neck to bring him closer. A light moan passed between them as little jolts of pleasure struck at his nerves. It felt so good to gain so much attention after nearly dying for it for so long. Whatever he wanted, it was his.

Tom was lost in the moment, rocking against Harry for more friction. This was the most wonderful feeling in the world! It felt so good, and he fit perfectly in his arms. Nothing could stop this fire burning from within his insistent loins. Harry's arms had slipped around his neck while his sweet tongue and pliant lips arrested every screaming thought of how wrong this act really was. Tom was going to come right then and there in his breeches, rutting against Harry's thigh like a dog in heat - but he didn't care. He needed this; he wanted this more than anything else in the fucking world because it felt so bloody right to hold Harry and taste him and rub his body against his with everything that he had.

And Harry was moving against him, garnering his own destiny for divinity underneath him. He made the most lusting of sounds under each primal rut; breathy and light with cloudy, uneasy delicacy. His tongue slipped back into his mouth to inhale a deeper breath. Tom felt the warmth spread between their breeches. He had just made Harry come for him, in his arms, against him, without words. It was so precious and wrong, so deliciously wrong to taste upon the flesh of this innocent and take what was rightfully his to have. Tom wanted him more than anything, more than immortality, more than power. This _was_ power, this was his. Reclaiming Harry's perfect mouth, he thrust his tongue back inside and found heavenly bliss rupture between them.

Tom froze inside, his own mind swirling with obscurity. It was over – as soon as it had begun; it was over. The beautiful boy, still limp in his arms, nibbled at his lower lip with confusion. He had just gotten off with his brother, something he told himself would never happen. What had he done?

A flush of guilt and horror flooded out from deep within. "No… I didn't. Fuck," he breathed, dropping Harry onto the mattress to look upon the hands that had held the boy so closely moments before. He sucked in a great breath; unsure of what had just happened to make him lose his strong focus, knowing he had caused this, knowing he had lost control. He slammed his fist against the wall. He wanted to tear his own eyes out. "Fuck! I'm so… I'm so sorry, Harry. I didn't mean for that…"

Harry was glowing red with embarrassment. He covered his eyes with the balls of his hands to block out the vision of his angry brother. "Its okay, Tom, really," he whispered back urgently. Why was Tom so irate? What they had done was so exhilarating…"It was just an accident. Please don't be angry anymore."

"No, it's not okay, baby. I didn't mean it." Having grabbed his wand off of the night table, Tom waved it over him and Harry to clean them off. He sat it on the windowsill and fell onto his side with his back to his brother. "If anyone found out… no one can ever know," he murmured under his breath. "It's not acceptable. We can't tell anyone."

Harry curled around him, draping that ever-so-long leg over his hip and an arm about his chest. He tucked his chin in the crook of Tom's neck and sighed. "I won't tell anyone, I promise." He brushed his lips against his earlobe, something he had always done to soften the other boy up, but Tom stiffened against him.

"Just go to sleep, Harry. Forget it happened."

With a nod, Harry closed his eyes, letting the tears that burned beneath his eyelids spill forth.

* * *

It had been a week since he had last seen Harry, but he still could not face him – not yet. 

Tom dipped his quill into the inkwell at his side and wrote down his thoughts on the latest incantation him and his "friends" had in the works. "This shield spell I've created is powerful enough, so it seems. The elements it calls are bonded like steel, nothing is getting past. We've tested it over thirty times without anything slipping through. I'd say it's better than a counter-curse if you're prepared enough."

Dolohov and Nott were standing several steps apart, wands at the ready, conjuring large silver shields on their forearms with unspoken spells each time the other was fired upon. Avery rolled his eyes in frustration. He did not want to believe that something as simple as a wordless spell could act as an effective safety against the worst Unforgivable there was. "Yeah, but who's willing to test it on a Wizard, Voldemort? Setting a shield against a wall is fine; having someone conjure one out of thin air while the killing curse is being cast upon them is quite another thing."

Tom raised a hand to look at his fingernails, unscathed by the lack of faith a few of his followers had in him. "We could test it on a Muggle… or on you." He lowered his hand and fixed his eyes on the older student. "Yeah, we'll test it on you."

The sound of something very loud, like a rock hitting a metal pot, resounded through the room as a Stinging Spell hit one of the shields. Avery nearly leapt from his skin. "Er… testing the blockage on a Muggle would probably be better," he conceded, shaking in his seat. He had no wish to die any time soon. "And then we can test the ability to conjure it after we're sure the spell can be successfully hindered."

A gasp caught Tom's attention. "Lord Voldemort, there's someone just outside the wards!" exclaimed Lestrange, watching a cloaked figure peering back at him through the supposed invisible barrier to the boys' secret corner in the rear of Junk Shop. "He shouldn't be able to see us!"

Tom stood up and waved to the boys to stand back. "What do you want?" he said to the man who stood facing him with only a thin layer of pulsating magic between them.

"Look at you, already a leader of such fine Wizarding stock." The man lowered his hood and shook out his silver-white hair. "You remember me, don't you, Tom? I need a word." He held no wand; he stood defenceless before him. Tom was amazed at how clearly an image of this man was burned into his mind. This was someone important, although he could not put his finger on the reason.

The magical barrier between them dissipated. Lestrange and the rest of the cronies moved toward the back wall. Draco Malfoy snickered at their cowardice, and added, "Alone, please."

Dropping into Tom's chair while the sixteen year old ushered the others out of the shop and propping his feet up on the edge of the desk, Draco grabbed up a quill and began doodling on the extensive research they had been working on. "You've got a problem needing fixed," he said absently. "A big one."

"And who are you to tell me this?" Tom hissed as he locked the door to the shop and returned to his desk. "Who the hell are you?"

Draco grinned charmingly. "I'm your mummy's guardian angel, of course."

"Course," Tom repeated, looking irked. He rested on the chair opposite of him, aghast at the scribbles covering part of his work. "What is this problem you mentioned?"

"Do you know where your brother's been going every day over the last four summers, Tom?" Draco had yet to make eye-contact with him; instead, he remained focused on the sketch he was working on. "Has it occurred to you that he's been avoiding your home as much as you have, and for bigger reasons than you have? I do understand how important the journey into finding immortality is to you, but the cost will be steep if you don't look beyond the tip of your nose."

Tom's eyes narrowed. This man knew far more than he was letting on. How did he know any of his work, and why had he mentioned Harry? "What are you on about?"

Draco shrugged lazily. "Perhaps you need to go home and visit with your mother. She hasn't seen either of her children for days…"

"Harry hasn't come home? How do you know this?" Tom demanded. He stood up and gripped his wand. "Look at me. Have you done something to—"

Draco shook his head, yet still refused to look the boy in the eye. "I'm merely a messenger, Tom. Your brother is quite safe… in fact, he's probably a lot better off where he is now than where he was when you abandoned him." He turned, facing Tom eye to eye at last. "That doesn't mean he should be there, though. The key to immortality lies within Harry. If you lose him, you will never find your answers."

As if he had been doused in ice water, Tom shivered at the truth in the man's words. "I should go see her, then?" he asked Draco, watching the man stand up and move toward the door. "She'll know where Harry is?"

"I'll see you again shortly to tie up any loose ends needing tying. Your greatest failure is your lack of considering the obvious. We're not going to allow that to happen again." Before Tom could ask anything else, Draco walked through the door, and was gone.

* * *


	6. A Riddled Affair

Chapter 6

A Riddled Affair

"He cleaned up quite well. You can hardly see the little rogue left in him."

"Tell me about it, and he's going to earn me that spot on the town committee. Everyone is chirping on about my kindness for allowing the little urchin inside my home. Honestly, all the old cows in the village stop and pinch his cheeks. Cecelia's damn near fallen in love with him, and my mother can't stop playing with his curls. That child is the only good thing that came from that bitch that ruined my life."

The middle-aged man sitting across from Tom Riddle mocked sympathy through a titter as he sipped at his tea. "My goodness, and what a scandal that was. They should string the lot of them up for practicing witchcraft and their pagan rituals on innocent folk such as you. Ever notice how all of the farmers in the area claim their livestock flourished again once that vile creature, Marvolo, kicked the bucket?"

Riddle laughed in a morose manner. "What are you insinuating, old chap? You think he had something to do with their slaughtering?"

"Oh, he was a mad one, all right. Deformed, too… I wouldn't put it past any of them. Burns the hairs in my nose just thinking on it."

"Is it any wonder that uh… er…? Henr…Harl… Hhhharry. Yes, Harry doesn't want to go back… not that he has any choice; I've taken the liberty of having papers drawn up to procure full custody of him, and I've enrolled him at Harrow School. I'm such a good daddy, Marvin; the boy is absolutely smitten with me."

Tom Riddle waved to Cecelia and Harry as they trotted past him and his business associate in the back gardens. The riders were wearing matching polo shirts, jodhpurs, and high boots, and waved back at the men cheerfully. Riddle took a long sip from his teacup and set it on the saucer with perfect refinement. "He's a natural. Celia says he could show with another year's practice. I guess he turned fourteen or something about a week ago… who knows, who cares. Anyway, I gave him that horse, Matilda, as a birthday present."

"Blimey, that was mighty kind of yea, Riddle."

"Right, well, he doesn't have any desire to return to his little shack now, so it served its purpose. He's stayed on here over the last four days."

Marvin gasped. "And none of them Gaunts have come to collect him?"

Riddle chuckled deeply in return. "Oh, they have: That Morfin character. I was going to have him arrested this very morning for refusing to vacate the grounds, but he slithered off before the police arrived. They're on the lookout for him."

"We can only hope that they apprehend him," the man said with a smirk.

"Quite right."

* * *

It had plagued Harry for days, these ill thoughts running through his head. He rubbed his scar to dull the annoying prickle plaguing him all morning. It was selfish; he knew that, to stay in such a place and feel… happiness? He was not fully content, but everything else paled in comparison. Still, something was missing. 

Mr Riddle was careful to veil his emotions around Harry; there was a sense the distrust whenever the man approached. As disconcerting as it was, Harry understood Tom Sr.'s loathe for anything magical or of relation to Merope or Morfin Gaunt. His mother had duped the man, poisoned his drink with Amortentia in foolish hope of fashioning a life for herself without thinking of him, thusly creating two more lives who unjustly suffered with poverty and abuse for no good reason at all.

And Morfin was just a plain old bully.

For two solid weeks Harry spent dawn to dusk with the man, and over the last four eves he took his father's advice not to return home. He missed his mum and Tom in a way that tugged very hard at his heart. He worried incisively about his mother's wellbeing while living without either of her children. Maybe Tom had finally gone home, but if he had… why hadn't he come to fetch him?

Now, finding himself locked in his room for the night as punishment for spewing a slew of foul vulgarities at Mr Riddle, Harry sat on the edge of his gigantic bed with his head propped on fists. The man was mad if he thought he could stop him from returning to Hogwarts. Harry wanted to be angrier, to kick things and break stuff until everything was in a million pieces, but he wasn't. In fact, it was almost flattering to think that someone actually cared enough about him to want him to have a finer education and worry about how dangerous magic was to someone so alone in this wicked world of wizards and Muggles.

Not to mention that Riddle had seen the scars, the welts, and the spot on Harry's head that refused to scab properly… He was no fool to think that Harry was as clumsy as he had claimed to be.

"_No son of mine will be treated poorly by those filthy creatures. The authorities are in search of Morfin Gaunt as we speak, and I will be pressing full charges against him once they apprehend him,"_ Riddle had said. Harry didn't care whether he meant it, or not. Morfin in prison sounded like a fine idea to him.

He was finally away from all of that fear, that pain, the trouble. No one laughed at him in town anymore. No one called him 'the Littler Rogue' or threw things at him, spit on him… but the sacrifice was hard to swallow. Mr Hitchens trusted Riddle about as far as he could throw him, and Mr Hitchens was a wonderful, kind Muggle. He warned Harry about his father's intensions, giving him insight to what lay beneath the sudden bout of kindness.

As naïve as Harry was, he also understood give and take. If Riddle wanted a showpiece for profit, then he would have one. He would give Tom Sr. the perfect son, and would take from this man a life of promise. That was the Slytherin way… but giving up Hogwarts was not going part of the deal.

A sharp knock at the door disrupted the boy's thoughts. "Yes?" he said in a small voice, feeling his veins pump with adrenaline. He was going to be scolded and had to take it like a man, and keep his mouth shut in the process. "Keep your mind now," he told himself. "Don't let him win. Don't let him get one over on you." The boy did not fancy the idea of holding a hunk of soap in his mouth for five whole minutes as he had been threatened with, no matter how badly the curse words were dying to fly.

He sat up as he watched his father enter the room and close the door behind him, and his eyes narrowed in wait for confrontation. "I'm not going to Harrow School, so save your breath," Harry blurted, vexed. "I have a full scholarship at Hogwarts. It's one of the finest wizarding schools in the world. Tom won't allow you to do—"

"Save the speech," Riddle replied. He put his back to the door, leaning against it as if to keep Harry locked in there forever. He appeared inebriated with spirits, his words slurred. "You're going to Harrow and that's that. Winston Churchill went to Harrow, I went to Harrow, and now you're going to Harrow. They'll make you a man, and for god's sake - you need it like no other, you little molly."

_Hurray, another swipe at his lack of masculinity._ Harry smirked, having grown numb from the unvarying innuendo. "Fuck Winston Churchill and Harrow School, and fuck you," he said flatly, and listened as the lovely resonance of fingernails scratched into the wood of the door the man was leaning against. Harry had never used the word 'fuck' so effectively before - or at all, to be sure. It was one of Tom's chosen obscenities that tore his mother to pieces whenever it slipped past his lips - and the effect was near spot on with Riddle.

The true test now would be whether the man standing in front of him could stay in control. Harry kept sniffling from a small cold he had caught, looking completely youthful and adorable in his little velvet knee pants; very stiff and ripe with angst on the edge of his bed. A bit of worry pricked at his heart, watching those dark eyes narrow to slits. He may have gone too far and would catch a through beating, but it was worth it.

Riddle relaxed his muscles after a moment of silent contemplation, letting his head loll to the side and a smirk matching Harry's curl his lips. He seemed to be enjoying this row as much as the boy. Perhaps being a father, to him, was not as life-restrictive as he once thought. "You've got a fire inside of you yet… I like that, Harry. Perhaps you're slightly less of a queer than I first thought."

_Whatever…_ Harry perked up. "Does that mean I can return to Hogwarts?"

"No."

Harry slumped back into position, folding his arms over his chest for added drama. So this was what it was like to have a father. He didn't hate it, and he didn't want this dispute to end. The little hairs on his arms stood straight up. Riddle was nothing short of bemusing. If only Tom could be there to feel the difference Harry felt at that very moment, and experience how utterly delightful and downright bizarre it was to play house with someone sane. He curled his fingers around the bedding he was sitting on, fearing he might float away.

"You're going to…er…do that thing that children do when er… sit in your room all day… punished, whatever. No dessert, no horse tomorrow… right," Riddle mumbled through an odd bout of hand gesticulations. "So umm… brush your teeth and all that, tuck in…"

Harry huffed loudly as he stomped over to the adjoining room, slamming the door behind him. He flopped over the basin and looked at himself in the large golden framed mirror hanging on the wall. As strange as it was, and Merlin was it ever strange, he smiled as brightly as he could remember smiling. He felt at home.

* * *

"…near sick to death. How could you do this to her? Oh, wake up already!" 

Harry groaned at the intrusion to his lovely dreams and attempted to roll onto his side, but found out quickly that he couldn't. He opened his eyes in rude awakening, and gasped as a hand clamped solidly over his mouth.

Tom was sitting straddled over him. He was dressed in all black, camouflaging him with the darkness of the room. The anger he was portraying was genuine, not the mock father figure angle Riddle had used. He struggled to hold Harry in place while he fully awoke. "Stop it! It's just me!"

Harry peeled Tom's hand away, bending his fingers back as painfully as he could. "What are you doing?" he hissed harshly under his breath.

Tom tensed up. "That's my question to ask _you_, idiot. Why are you here?"

"I live here now!"

"Oh, you live here now, do you…? We don't have time for this…" Tom yanked Harry up by the arms and pulled him off of the bed. He gazed around the room, squinting to adjust to the lack of lighting. Each individual piece of furniture within the borders of the flocked walls looked to cost more than everything combined in their squalor of a shack. It was elegant and tasteful, exactly as Tom imagined it to be. His nose crinkled with revulsion. Uncaring what Harry was clad in, whether it pyjamas made of pure silk or his skivvies; as he currently was; he pushed the smaller boy toward the door to remove him from this wretched hive of evil forever.

Harry was wriggling around like a toddler to snake out from his clutches. About bloody time! Tom had finally arrived to bring him back. It was revitalizing to feel him so close again, to hear him demand that he return. His heart was thumping so hard, he felt every blood-pumping vein might burst apart. There was only one teeny tiny little problem…

Harry thrust a hand in front of him, gripping the frame of the door to put a hasty end to his brother's actions. "But I don't want to go back home!"

Tom winced as if he were stung and held a finger to his lips. "Keep it down, you bunny, you're going to wake someone up! If I had known you were going to do this, I would have just given you the… Oh, move, go!"

"Why can't you and I just stay here? Stop it, Tom," Harry protested, smacking wildly at his brother's insistent body bumping to get him moving. "He'd take you in, too!"

"Stay here…?" Tom was taken a back. The urgency to get Harry out of the room flapped its fiery wings and flew out of his already teetering conscience. He stood there, arm still clamped around Harry like anchored rope, with his mouth hung open in surprise, attempting to fathom why anyone would willing want to live among Muggles. His other hand moved on its own, cupping the boy on the forehead to check for illness. "Have you got a fever?"

Harry exhaled a hot breath of frustration, and curled his fingers around Tom's to dislodge them. "Look, Tom," he said gently, "its three meals a day, the rain won't splatter in your eyes while you sleep, and it's so… quiet. Mr Riddle might be a bit—"

"Traitor," Tom hissed. He felt Harry lock his body in place as his grip tightened on him. "Have you forgotten what a nightmare he made our lives in the village? Muggles spit on mummy, called her awful names, told her they would put us in an orphanage and turned their noses at us when she cried her eyes out and pleaded for them to leave us alone. Mr Riddle instigated all of this! How can forgive a man who put us through hell? Let's not even get into why you were confined to this room when I got here – like a prisoner."

"I don't forgive him!" Harry clarified quickly, looking horrified by this slap-in-your-face reminder. "I don't even like him, Tom, I just… well, he locked me in for calling him a… he didn't do it out of spite and he didn't hurt me. He did it so I wouldn't run away, not because I was in his way. Mummy did it for very different reasons, and you know it!"

Tom pulled a sharp breath and slapped a hand back over Harry's noisy mouth. "Will you bloody well indulge me in keeping you voice down—please?" Another bout of struggles commenced before Harry gave up and nodded, and Tom pulled both of his hands back, holding them up in peace. "I won't leave again if you come home, I promise."

Harry let out a dejected sigh and closed the door. He flipped the light switch on the wall and leaned back against it. Tom was so bloody handsome it was almost hard to look at him without sighing. He loved him, worshipped him. He missed him so much. Harry sniffled and rubbed his nose, ashamed of himself for disrupting everything around him when all he wanted to do was fit in. If only it was him that kept Tom home, and not his mother's loneliness, or Morfin's insanity, or Tom's hatred for Mr Riddle.

Harry's eyes welled up. He looked away, hugging his arms for comfort. "You don't have to do that. I would never expect you to stay home on my account. I know you don't love me… you can't even look at me. I'm not good enough for you. I'm not good enough for Morfin or Mr Riddle, and I'm sorry if I burdened your life by following you around all the time."

"Harry," Tom breathed, scrunching his features with confusion. "What are you saying? You never…"

Two fat tears trailed over Harry's cheeks. He turned his head and wiped them off on his forearm. "I just wanted you to notice me. I didn't try to be less that what you needed in a brother… I just am, and I'm sorry. I'm going to stay here. Mr Riddle doesn't like me, but at least he pretends to."

Tom took a closer step, but Harry drew back from him. He froze, feeling drained of lifeblood. How could he have let this go so far as to allow Harry to think for one moment that he meant nothing to him? How could he not understand how difficult it was to distance himself from the one thing in the whole world he wanted to be closest to? Tom could not remember crying before and he refused to let that happen, but the pain clutching the edges of his heart, making it hard to breathe, crinkled his chin. "You've got it wrong," he said softly, taking another careful step closer.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Have I?"

"Yes!" Tom half-shouted. He slipped his arms around Harry's waist, pulling him in close, hugging him to his chest. "I love you. Don't ever let me hear you say any different. Harry. You and mummy mean everything to me, and she's dying for you to come home. She hasn't stopped crying since you left. "

"Is that true?"

"I swear to Merlin it's true."

The sweet melody of Harry's uneven, ragged breathing and the sudden shift of weight against him as Harry's arms came up and circled his waist, filled Tom with a peace he had not expected. They stood together in silence while Harry regained his composure, letting the last of his tears cascade down his cheeks and disappear into the soft material of Tom's shirt.

It was an unfortunate weakness the boy had shown him, something that would need to be righted; Harry was uncertain of himself, feeling unworthy of the people around him. This was simply unacceptable. No one – not Riddle or Morfin, nor anyone at school, was as fine a human being as Harry. None of them deserved to be graced by his presence, and they were the ones who had caused this.

Of course Harry would need to be removed from this manor, and now. Spending another minute under this roof would only serve to lessen his diminished spirits. Tom's ultimate goal for being there came back into mind, and pushed the emotion away, set to finish. "Are you still going to give me a fight?" he whispered into Harry's bed-mussed hair.

Harry looked up, astounded. "What?"

Tom pulled away, taking a step back. Using magic here was not an option, _not yet_. Tom had to maintain a level head, keep his emotions in check and not lose any semblance of control over the situation, no matter how pretty Harry looked trembling before him with his pleading green eyes. "Maybe you should get dressed, and we can talk about this a little more."

Dawn was nearing, evident by the lightened windows and the sounds of bustling about on the floor below them. He reached into his pocket, touching the vial of liquid given to him directly before his arrival at the Riddle House. It would be difficult to get Harry to drink it without stirring the staff below. People were awake, they would hear him now. Draco Malfoy had been right. He should have just administered the drug before he woke the boy up, but finding Harry locked inside his room had given Tom the false impression that he was being held captive, and would have come willingly.

Dizzied with obscurity, Harry absently nodded. As he pulled a shirt on over his shoulders, Tom looked out the second story window and quickly spotted the silver-haired man glaring back up at him from the garden. Draco gestured hotly for him to hurry; tapping his wrist with a finger and waving for him to get a fucking move on. "So, umm… what do you think, Harry? Are you willing to give me another chance?" He moved around behind the boy and took the collar of his shirt to straighten it. The vial was cupped in his palm, uncorked.

Harry curled into his warmth as he buttoned the pearl buttons and reached for his trousers. "I don't think so, Tom. I think if you just gave him a chance, you might like him. I don't fancy staying on with Morfin another minute. Mr Riddle took me to a doctor last week, had that cut on my scalp stitched because it wouldn't close up. I don't want it—" Before he could utter another word, something hard, made of glass, smacked against his front teeth and a foul tasting substance coated his tongue as it slid toward the back of his throat. Tom's hand gripped him at the jaw, forcing his head back while his he held Harry tight to the crook of his stiffened form. Without swallowing a drop, Harry's muscles slackened on their own, halting any and all attempts to spit the remainder out or struggle to free himself. He collapsed and was lifted up, still but barely conscious, and quite unable to speak or budge even a finger.

Throwing the window open the instant he dropped Harry on his bed; Tom looked down at Draco with urgency. "It's done. Get up here and help me sneak him out!"

Draco wilfully kept himself from shouting. This younger version of his master, brilliant as he was, did not think things through properly. "That was sort of the point of the potion, so you could handle this on your own before we ran out of time." He looked behind him, at the carriage passing on the road off at the end of the property while chewing anxiously on his bottom lip. "We just ran out of time. Drop him out the window. He's a wizard, very resilient to long falls, he'll be fine."

"I am not dropping him! I'll lower him out and you will catch him!" The direct order, sounding so much like his current self, stunned the Death Eater. Without hesitation, Draco moved under the window in preparation.

Harry groaned lightly as Tom slid his hands underneath him, lifting up. He was asleep now, blissfully unaware of the happenings around him. Tom held him up on his shoulder, coddling him and petting his hair as he walked over to the escape route. As carefully as he could, he lowered Harry out slowly, feet first, bit by bit, over the ledge until he was holding him by the wrists and Draco was able to latch onto his ankles. It was difficult, heart-pounding, and if anyone were to have spotted them it would have looked quite ridiculous and very much like kidnapping.

Tom fought to hold Harry steady, although his arms burned painfully to release him as Draco situated Harry for a proper landing. "Do you have him?" he cried out, fearing his grip would not hold much longer from the sweat forming on his palms, making the task a slippery nightmare.

"Yeah, let him go," Draco returned, and Tom did so, believing in this man once more. As Harry fell, Draco caught him around the middle and stumbled forward, tumbling into the brick wall of the east side of the manor.

With a nervous intake of air into his lungs, and not before dropping a dried, blood-stained knife onto the unmade bed, Tom leapt out of the window beside them and landed on all fours.

The sun peeked out over the land, filling the valley below with brilliant light. Little Hangleton had awoken. Draco and Tom each took one of Harry's arms to support his limp form, and carried him off toward the woods.

* * *

As his eyes began to adjust to the light – the faces of his family, blurred and distorted, came painfully into view. Harry blinked several times at the horrid visage of Morfin sniffing around him, poking and tugging at the shirt he was wearing. His hair was more matted than ever and caked with something muddy, with small sticks and leaves protruding out here and there. It looked as if he were wearing a bird's nest on his head. Tom had gone and done it – he was back in the House of Gaunt. "You've got to be fucking pulling my leg," he mumbled as he tried to sit up, but a hand came down on his chest to shove him back into the bedding. 

Merope's face was set. "Harry Morfin Gaunt, you naughty, foul-mouthed little imp, if I ever hear you utter another vulgar word in my presence again I will take a switch to the backs of your legs until you can't walk for a month!"

"_Where's my knife?"_ Morfin growled. Harry squinted to look around the room for any sign of Tom. He rolled off of the bed, away from his mother and uncle to put some space between them. _"Don't you run off without giving me my knife, now. I told you plenty o' times not to touch it."_

"Where're my spectacles? I can't see a thing," he replied, ignoring the silly question about that stupid knife.

"_That's a nice shirt… been with your Muggle daddy doing Muggle stuff, eh? I 'spect he took your wand, so you took mine. I want em back; the wand and the knife…" _Morfin droned while Merope fretted between them, and Harry groaned in realisation that Tom had probably forgotten his glasses at Mr Riddle's manor. _"…not gonna tell you again, runt. Gimme the knife and wand and you'll get off easy. Nail you to the fucking door, I will. Do you hear me, boy?"_

"What have I told you, you old fool; get away from him."

The trio turned to gape at the door. Tom was standing there now against the frame, glaring back at Morfin; his wand visible in his hand. He was still dressed in a black rollneck and trousers as he had been when Harry first saw him that morning, looking striking and confident. The sky, through the window, had brightened the day like no other. The sun was directly above their home, warming the remaining shingles on the roof and framing the gloominess of their bedroom in such a way that Harry cracked a slight smile despite the peculiar circumstances surrounding them. Morfin had shivered under Tom's presence, there was no mistaking that. He was afraid of Tom. Something had changed between them.

A loud banging at the door made Harry jump. Merope squeaked out a gasp, but Tom turned his head slowly, as if expecting this abrupt intrusion.

"I wonder who that could be…" he murmured softly, pocketing his wand and pushing off of the frame to answer it, and added, "Maybe you should put some trousers on, Harry; I think it's for you."

Morfin pushed past a still dazed Harry as he fumbled with the closest article of clothing he could find, shoving the small bedroom window upward to squeeze his large frame through it. Merope twisted her hands up in her housedress as she swivelled her head around to watch all three males she resided with in mid-action. "Tom, who is it?"

"There 'e goes—through the window!"

Without the clear use of his vision, the blur of dark coated men filling the small home, processing into the bedroom to prevent Morfin from escape startled Harry like nothing other. He backed away, into his mother for protection as four large men grappled and slipped around and lost their grip on the old wizard's leg. Morfin had escaped.

"He's gone into the woods!"

A large hand clamped down over Harry's shoulder. One of the policemen spun him around to face the door as he looked him over for any visible signs of abuse. "This him? He looks all right, Riddle."

"Yes, that's my son. The both of them, actually."

A round of cautious snickering resonated through the house. Harry could feel his mother tense against his backside at the words and at the towering figure standing in the living room pointing to him and Tom. Mr Riddle had come to collect his bounty.

Looking so far out of place inside of the shack that it was almost amusing; Riddle, standing stiffly, dressed to the nines, gazed around at his surroundings with a scowl. "Surely this is kidnapping. You saw the evidence, constable. That _thing_ left a bloody knife on my child's bed! Look around you – this is no place to raise two boys."

"As if you ever cared a lick before Harry got you some notice…" Tom's eyebrow arched meticulously as his father turned to face him. The air around the room suddenly cooled several degrees. Tom moved back into the bedroom and stood behind his mother, putting an arm around her waist to keep her knees from buckling. "What is this about?" he asked politely, directing his question to the police officers. "We haven't done anything. Can't you see how badly you're frightening this poor, fragile woman?"

Ignoring him, the policeman pushed Harry through the door and into Riddle's grasp. One of the other officers jerked his thumb back at Tom. "You want him, too?"

Harry could feel the cold air setting frost on every surface. His breath was mist. A policeman rubbed his arms for warmth.

Tom's concerned visage contorted into hatred seeing Mr Riddle take Harry's arm, gripping it like a vice. "Oh no, just this little one, constable… the unspoiled one of the litter." The air between Tom and his father was turned to pure ice, and Merope's heart sank to her stomach at Riddle's ultimate and final rejection.

"And _she_ should be jailed along with her brother," Riddle said darkly, pointing to Merope with pure distain. Harry blanched, and Tom's eyes flickered with raw emotion. "If any of them come onto my property, I cannot guarantee they'll walk away. Arrest her for harbouring that convict and holding my son hostage."

"No! She hasn't done anything!" Tom cried. "She's sick. You can't do this to us."

"Don't put mummy in jail!" Harry was panting for air as he grabbed at a kitchen chair for support. He no longer wanted to live in the Riddle House, or with Mr Riddle, no matter how fancy it was. Roughly, Riddle hauled him up off of the ground and dragged him to the door. Harry scrambled to hold onto anything. "Tom, don't let him do this!"

Without his glasses, looking desperately back at him, Harry was sure that his eyes had deceived him. From across the room, struggling to keep their mother from being ripped away and carted off, Harry caught a brief smile curling up on the corners of Tom's mouth. But as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

* * *

Through his eyelids, a flash of green light pierced into the darkness of the cupboard from under the crack of the door. Pain, like no other, pulsed once through his scar. Harry yelped and opened his eyes, wondering if another dream about the unusual colour was the cause. His muscles screamed in protest as he shifted on the cold, wooden floorboards to get a better look into Riddle's bedroom. He could hear the man's steady breath fill the silence. Harry's hands were bloodied from pounding against the door for hours, his eyes swollen and red from crying, and his throat was raw from screaming. He could not remember exactly when he had given in to exhaustion and fallen asleep, but it could not have been very long. 

Another cruel jolt of green, and a stabbing, pain-filled blow against his forehead, sent Harry reeling backward against the wall of the small enclosure. He cried out and cupped his face, horrified by what was happening to him. Was it another accidental outburst of magic emanating from within, like the one that had shattered Mrs Riddle's ceramic cats earlier in the evening and caused his father to panic and lock him up? He didn't think so, but anything was possible.

The knob to the bedroom door jiggled. Harry held his breath and dropped back onto the floor. Maybe Mr Riddle was awake and might let him out. Artificial light flooded into the room. Harry clenched his eyes shut for a moment, and heard the sounds of footsteps tapping on the wooden floor. It was difficult to tell, at first, who the figure was standing over his father's bed. They were so tall, poised, with their robes seemingly flowing without breeze. Harry's breath hitched with excitement and fear as he realised who it really was.

Glancing at the cupboard to his left, Tom's cool demeanour was in check as he nudged the man sleeping quietly in his bed. "Wake up, you filthy Muggle, tell me what you've done with Harry."

Tom Riddle rose up in his bed, smirking. "Get the hell out of here," he hissed menacingly. "This is getting ridiculous. I'm going to telephone the police and have you all put away once in for all."

"No, don't do that!" Harry cried out, punching the door. If anything were to happen to Tom… He could not bear the thought of it. "Don't call the police, Mr Riddle, please!"

Tom moved forward over the bed. The telephone clattered noisily across the room, its cord ripped from the wall. Riddle was on his feet, moving aggressively around the bed. He was slightly larger than Tom, looming over him as he grabbed the boy and tossed him like a rag doll onto the mattress. Harry could only see Tom's shoes dangling over the side as Riddle climbed on top of him.

"Tom?"

There were sounds of a horrible struggle; choking gasps, clothing being ripped. Riddle was cursing, out of breath. The bed shook the floor. Tom was kicking his feet to get any sort of leverage. Harry felt sick inside. He grasped the doorknob with both hands and sobbed. There was a thud, catching his attention. Again, Harry dropped down to peek under the crack and saw Tom lying on the floor, clutching his throat, looking back at Harry in horror.

"Harry, you all right?"

"Ye—look out!"

Riddle dropped from the bed, catching Tom by the ankle as he crawled to the cupboard to release his brother. He slid the boy's body back into place beneath him and straddled his hips. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

"No, no, no…" Harry whimpered for lack of any other word. He could see the life draining from Tom's body. His legs and arms went limp to his sides as his head was pounded repeatedly against the floor. The knob locking the cupboard shattered like crystal and the door swung open. Harry wasted no time in aiding his dying brother by jumping on the older man's back.

Gulping in lungfuls of oxygen, Tom thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled his wand free. He sat up; shoving Harry off of Riddle's back and jammed the wand into the side of the bastard's head. _–Avada Kedavra!—"_

With a look of sheer surprise forever etched in his features, Tom Riddle fell to the floor, dead.

Harry was on his hands and knees beside the bed, retching from the third and final jolt to his system. Tom shakily pocketed the wand and pulled him into his arms. "Oh gods… I didn't mean to kill him," he cried, resting his head on Harry's trembling shoulder. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"You killed him? He's dead?" Harry was shaking like a leaf. He tucked his head under Tom's chin.

Tom was white as a ghost. He rocked Harry in his lap until the jitters began to subside. "I'm a murderer… Oh, God, I'm a murderer."

Lifting his head, shaking it to and fro, Harry shushed his older brother. "No, its okay, stop it, Tom. Hush, okay? Stop it, please. He was going to kill you — you had no choice."

"Does it still hurt?" Tom asked, and wiped at a line of blood leaking down his brother's face. The pale, sickened, I'm-a-murderer look had disappeared as his attention shifted to the lighting bolt shaped scar. "I thought this might happen. It should heal quickly though."

"No, I er… it's nothing," Harry stammered, confused by Tom's sudden recovery.

Tom helped them stand. "Let's get out of here, alright?" As nice as it was to feel Harry against him, there was a mission to complete; wands to plant, memories to alter, and revenge to be served at last. As promised, Harry had taken witnessing murder a lot better than he had hoped. Harry had now seen death, just as Tom had. "You have to promise you'll never tell anyone about this. They'll put me in Azkaban for the rest of my life. They won't care that it was self defence."

"No! You had to do it! Surely they'll listen to the reasons why," Harry compelled.

"They'd never believe it… unless…"

"Unless?" Harry breathed, looking hopefully at the older boy. He did not want Tom to go to Azkaban for anything. "Unless… what?"

"No… I couldn't," Tom said, cringing. He opened the bedroom door, steering Harry away from the elder Riddles' bedroom. "We could… pin it… you know, on Morfin… I mean, that way they could cart him away instead, and we'd be really free… I don't know, it's only a thought, is all. They're going to investigate. They'll figure out I killed them… If we implanted a memory and this wand on him… there's a slight chance… it might work."

"Could you really do that? Is that really possible – implanting a memory?" Harry asked him in awe, clenching tighter around his waist as they walked through the dark hallway, "because if it is… that's exactly what we're going to do."

Feeling the weight of the world lift from his shoulders, Tom suppressed the great urge to smile. There was no other like him, Harry was unique. Tom kissed the top of his head. "I love you, Harry. Everything is going to be okay."

The feeling of something being terribly off would not sit right in Harry's mind. All the same, what would it truly matter if the bad men were finally gone and Tom remained? Did it really need to be a concern about how it happened? This was something they had fantasised, dreamed, talked about for years! There was no love lost for Morfin or Riddle. All Harry ever wanted for any of them was a life without these two villains, and now it was theirs. He pushed out any last residue of concern and pressed closer to Tom's side as they stepped out into the back garden. "I love you, too, Tom," he whispered, feeling new vitality soar through his veins, "more than anything in the world."

* * *


	7. Higher Standards

Chapter 7

Higher Standards

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom noticed the oddly peculiar wizard; his Transfiguration teacher and nemesis of his idol; had been watching him with interest for some time. Albus Dumbledore was sitting quietly, hands folded in his lap and half-moon spectacles perched on his nose to make it appear that he was reading the open book resting on his desk. His eyes, however, in their wretched twinkling-blue, were stealthily centred to the exact spot where Tom was writing his essay.

_He couldn't know, impossible._ _I left no clues behind!_

There had been a mysterious force of entry into the man's bedchambers the evening before, during the Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. No one had seen or heard a thing, and nothing appeared to be missing. Tom, being the brightest and best in his sixth year class, felt outrage by this visual rape of sorts. How dare he stare at him so accusingly?

Resting his quill on the desk, Tom leaned forward. "Is there something you'd like to ask me, Professor?" Everyone in the classroom turned to look his way, and followed his stare.

"Not at this particular moment, no, Tom," the man replied without a hitch.

"Is there a good reason as to why you're staring at me?"

"Actually, yes," Albus replied.

Tom felt a cold shiver run down his spine_. There's no way he could know_. "Would you care to share this explanation with me?"

Shrugging, Albus adjusted his posture and looked at all of the other students watching them. "That will come in time, my boy."

As life grew more liberated and fulfilling for him and Harry, and even their deranged mother, Tom's plunge into darkness grew along side of it like a weed. There was nothing to stop him from fulfilling his quest for immortality and power. With each passing day, free of Morfin, of his childhood home, and having wiped out the last of his paternal bloodline, Tom came one step closer to finding the key to unlock these mysteries he dared to seek. Albus Dumbledore just so happened to be very acquainted with Gellert Grindelwald and, at one time, had believed as he did; that wizards were superior to Muggles. Tom could hardly pass up the chance to find out as much knowledge as he could about the intriguing man - and what he did find was nothing short of amazing.

The bell rang, and Tom packed up his belongings eagerly, quickly striding to the door to avoid any more contact between himself and the professor. His band of followers was behind him, parting the crowds gathered in the halls with fierce glares and threatening words. No one dared mess with them… bad things tended to happen to those who did.

A low growl began to form in Tom's throat as his eyes caught sight of Harry and his own crew of sideshow freaks cavorting next to the Gryffindor common room's portrait covered entrance. The boy was quite popular in his year, and did not discriminate when it came to making friends. This infuriated Tom like nothing other. It was a direct violation of his personal ideals. Alas, his warnings to Harry to stay the fuck away from the half-wits and Mudbloods and all the rest of the vile creatures in between floated between his ears. He had been counselled repeatedly about this to no avail. Harry did what Harry wanted to do…

Nudging his arm, Minerva McGonagall quietly alerted Harry to Tom's approach. Wide-eyed and completely caught off guard, Harry quickly sheltered himself behind his best mate; the half-giant, Rubeus Hagrid; in hopes that his brother had not yet seen him. "Fuck, I'm dead," he whimpered.

"Harry, language!" Minerva hissed. Olive Hornby mimicked him by hiding behind Hagrid, too. Minerva adjusted her glasses in a stealthy manner to confirm that Tom was, in fact, headed toward them. "Yes, yes, here he comes. Oh, he looks angry, and his brood of evildoers is in perfect formation behind him."

Druella looked wholly nervous, but Algie Longbottom puffed his chest out like a great robin and set his fists on his hips. "They don't scare me none."

Hagrid pulled his heavy coat closed to conceal the boy, but it was plainly too late. Watching Tom's glowering visage peek around the large girth, Harry cringed. "Sorry, Minnie—Oh, hey, Tom, were you looking for me?"

"Hmm, right. Go to my dormitory and wait there for me," was all he said in return. He refused to address the others.

Harry made an apologetic face. "Can't, sorry; gonna hit some practice in like… five minutes."

Minerva nodded in agreement and flicked the 'Quidditch Captain' badge resting in sparkling perfection on her tartan sash. "He's going to help us work on some moves we've invented together," she added, smirking at Tom. "He's a real lion at heart, wouldn't you say?"

His fellow Slytherins had gathered around Tom by this time, and all of them looked down their noses at the bunch, mostly ignoring the massive boy standing between Harry and Tom. One of them reached out to grab Harry's arm, enraged that he'd be so crass as to deny such a person, but Tom threw his hand out to stop him. "That's quite alright. After practice then," he said calmly, returning Minerva's disapproving sneer. "And you," he said lowly, "encouraging this vile pastime in such a way. Isn't this your last year here, I dearly hope?"

Minerva blinked a few times with stunned silence, and then looked down upon her chest and pointed to a gleaming silver badge, one resting beside the Quidditch Captain badge, with the obvious 'HG' stamped upon it. "It is common knowledge that they give these out only to persons in their seventh year. I thought you were a bit smarter than that, Tom."

With flared nostrils, Tom turned on his heel to stomp away. "Be back directly after practice," he ordered.

"Right," said Harry, hiding a titter behind a hand.

* * *

Shucking off his cleats and robes and letting them fall lazily to the floor, Harry plunged into Tom's bed to remove the remainder of his uniform. He plucked each sock off and tossed them over the side, then moved to the zip of his Quidditch breeches. Shimmying out of them as Tom entered the dormitory; Harry grinned brightly, balled up the breeches, and threw them in brother's face. "You're really acting funny anymore, idiot," he chimed, and slid his fingers down the length of his shirt, popping the buttons away. "You reported Olive for running in the halls when you let Marius do the same thing this afternoon. And what was that ridiculous fear tactic you tried on Minerva, hmm? Real classy, Tom… She said you were a right prat – and I've never heard her call anyone a name before. Whatever, I'm knackered. She's a tyrant on the pitch."

Tom, having folded Harry's breeches and his own robes as neatly as possible, rested them over the bedstead. He undressed smartly; taking his sweet old time with each article of clothing, balling his socks just right and making sure the pleats of his trousers matched the other. His shoes were placed under the bed by the foot in perfect alignment, and he pulled back the sheets to fold them over properly before climbing into bed. Any anger he had before had vanished. All he wanted to do was be next to the one person in the world that he cared about.

Harry had closed his eyes by this time, mocking loud snores while the weight of Tom shifted over beside him. The curtains fell closed, darkening the interior of the bed.

"I put a nifty little Silencing Charm on the curtains that'll activate whenever I climb in to sleep so I don't have to keep reapplying it. I invented it myself just this afternoon. Go ahead, give a scream, see if anyone comes," Tom boasted, giving Harry's ribs a nudge.

"'s not the smartest thing you've ever done," Harry replied shortly, still lying in simulated sleep. "What if you get hurt in here? Who'll hear you calling?"

Tom snorted. "Ah, yeah, I'm so clumsy in bed. I might get injured."

"You will if you don't shut up and let me kip out," Harry warned.

"It's also impossible to peek in," Tom continued, as he shifted onto his side and traced the line of Harry's jaw with a finger. "No one will have a clue as to what we're doing."

Harry groaned pathetically under Tom's vanquish, feeling the warmth of arousal wholly pervade his skin. It wasn't that he didn't want Tom touching him again – he did, badly – God, he loved it when Tom took control and gave him such unbroken attention – but that familiar jolt of insecurity moved through his arms and made him push back against Tom's shoulders as the older boy began climbing on top of him. Anymore, it seemed, Tom refused to keep himself in check when it came to Harry and Harry's sweet little body. Whenever they were alone, when no one was looking even for a second; the fondling, groping, tongue-sucking-into-his-mouth, and earlobe nibbling would get underway.

Feeling hot breath cascading along the line of his neck, Harry shivered without control. He shouldn't have come here, he knew this would happen. His voice wavered with timidity. "What are you doing?"

"_Shh_, I'm trying to kiss you," Tom replied in a confident, husky voice, and removed Harry's hands to place them at his sides. He smiled that beautiful, perfect smile of his as he leaned in again and pressed his lips over Harry's chin. "I missed seeing you today, and you slept in your dormitory last night. I'm inclined to believe you may be avoiding me."

_He was._ Harry turned his head to the side as Tom eased over his body, trapping the smaller boy beneath. "Course I'm not," Harry stammered, as he wriggled around to get comfortable. A silly smirk flirted with his lips. "I've been busy, you've been busy. I didn't want to bother you."

"What bother? Don't be stupid." Tom clipped him lightly on the cheek to right his head. "Now shut up and kiss me."

Their limbs became a tangled mess as the urge to copulate so kindly took over all rational thought. Harry's right thigh was sandwiched between Tom's legs, the other rested on top. They rocked against the other, rolling onto their sides to find a more pressuring way to gain the most gratification, and with their tongues twisting and sliding around between their lips, both boys began to fall to the passion.

Oh, and it was good. No, the primordial act of frottage alone was more than good, but the need to move forward and want it all pulled so strongly on Tom's libido. It seemed an endless struggle between them. Harry was more interested in Quidditch and misbehaviour than exploring the wonders of sexual stimulation. It hadn't deterred Tom - in fact, it was a conquest. The challenge was there to best the best, to see how far he could get. He had slept with over half of the Slytherin girls over the age of sixteen… and a few of the boys, but they were pittance; practice for perfection.

Tom wanted Harry in the worst way. The pretty boy stirred the dead, cold, stagnant emotion deep within his endlessly seeking mind. He supposed he could take what he wanted; tie Harry to the bed and ravage him in every way possible. It had crossed his mind more than once… but that would take the fun out of it and destroy the trust. And Tom needed Harry's trust. No, he would not part with that over a cheap grope. Still, he had to try and whittle him down. Sadly, it would take time.

"Guess what I found out this afternoon."

"What?" Harry whispered back; not fully trusting the Silencing Charm. He slapped Tom's hand away from his backside, giggling nervously in the process. "Well?"

Curling into him to lean on an elbow and loom just so over Harry, Tom hummed seductively in his throat. "Upon discovery of that journal, I learned that," – he kissed him once on the corner of his lip – "the all powerful Grindelwald, my personal hero, is a," – and again on the other – "right old fairy," – and pressed his lips upon Harry's before he could respond. Fingers slid along the other's sides, legs bent, and their groins pressed into the other.

Harry sighed, tipping his head back and digging his nails into Tom's lower back. "That's lovely, really."

Tom snickered wickedly. "Now guess who he was buggering."

"I don't care about Grindelwald or who he was buggering," Harry growled.

"Ah-ah, guess," Tom repeated, holding up a warning finger.

With a heated sigh, Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I don't… no… no way. You're joking, Tom. Don't say it!" he exclaimed, finding it hard not to giggle once more at the thought of who Tom was bursting to shout. He pressed his hands over his ears just as the name was yelled.

"Dumbledore!"

Harry winced dramatically, clutching his chest as if he'd been shot. "No! I told you not to tell me!"

"It's true!"

"Gods, that's just… yech!"

"Imagine that," Tom continued, in a lesser enthusiastic and more sensual tone, "two of the most powerful living wizards—queer together. And they've kept it secret all this time."

The giggles died off as Harry began to understand what his brother was saying. If Dumbledore and Grindelwald could keep their relationship secret, could truly be themselves and still remain the most feared and adored wizards of their time, then so could they. "Tom," he whispered through an unsteady breath, reluctantly allowing the larger boy to wiggle his way between his thighs. Nothing else was said; Tom pulled him into his arms, lifting him off of the bed at the nape of his neck to press their trembling lips together once more. Harry pushed up on his elbows, so afraid his muscles were too shaky to hold him up.

The progression, slow and steady, heated them both through. Needing more, Tom took the boy's hand in mid thrust against his thigh to gently coax it between their torsos. Harry pulled it back in staunch resistance. "No, Tom…"

"_Shh…_" Tom's other hand was slipping down the length of his brother's side, fingertips easing under the elastic of Harry's pants and moving closer to cleft of his bum. Harry tried to dislodge it, but Tom grabbed him again and placed his palm dangerously close to their erections.

"Merlin, will you stop?" Harry snapped, pulling his hand away and pressing it flat against Tom's chest. His back stiffened and his legs clenched and pinned Tom's to halt their movement.

"C'mon, Harry," Tom wheedled, retaking his right wrist, "just touch it."

"No," Harry said flatly, looking shocked. His ears were burning hot with embarrassment. "I told you I don't want to yet. I'm not ready."

"Oh, fuck, Harry, please?"

Harry shook his head. "No!"

"But it feels so good, I swear. I won't ask you to do anything else. You can touch it for just a second, over my pants even. C'mon, please?"

"Tom," Harry whinged, wishing he had again gone straight to his own dormitory. "I don't want to do that yet."

_Bull-headed prig!_

Tom huffed and fell back against the mattress, and punched the bedstead for added drama. "Fuck it," he stung, and stared angrily up at the canopy, "If you're not going do anything else, I'll just work it off with someone who wants to."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry was glaring at him now, with his arms tightly crossed over his chest.

"Just what I said, don't worry on it," Tom retorted and rolled over onto his side.

* * *

As the weeks went by, not much had changed between the two brothers. Nothing seemed as frustrating to Tom, who had accepted the strange sensations within his own chest that, beating so close to his heart, constricted and burned upon all functioning rational whenever he got too close to Harry, whenever he thought of Harry, and whenever anything about anything came to mind that reminded him of Harry. For years this had driven him away and kept himself apart from the boy, but this calling was clear.

Now it was Harry's turn at denying this attraction and it hurt something awful. Why did love have to happen, and why was it so painful? This natural maturity might take years for Harry to accept. Tom only had one year left in school before it was time to move on and begin his destiny. He could not bear the thought of Harry remaining behind here without him, mulling around the scores of silly girls who thought the boy was a real catch.

The journal in Tom's hands quivered. He had found a terrible flaw between the lovers penned inside its pages. They were so young, two years apart and brilliant as they come with ideals that made for the ultimate combine, and yet… one did not truly love the other. Tom had no idea why this passage stuck in his mind and forced him to read it over and over. Why was this so utterly important? Innumerable people throughout history had worked together to achieve goals as great without the need for love. Or had they? A requited love did not necessarily mean the same thing to every match. Maybe love took on more than one form. Was this mystical emotion the key to unlocking something he had overlooked? Had caring about something, as Albus Dumbledore had with his family, made him as or even more powerful than Grindelwald?

Any and all thoughts on the subject trailed off as the sounds of persistent tapping broke Tom's reverie. Realising he was no longer alone in the Slytherin common room; he crammed the journal into his robes and stood up. For the first time in his life he looked at the older boy standing wearily before him, dying to tell him something important, and smiled at him. "Afternoon, Avery."

Avery gulped, having never been received by Tom with any sort of warmth. This meeting would be a lot more difficult than he'd imagined.

"What's the matter?" Tom asked him, spying the concern blanching the boy's features. "Has something happened?"

"Listen," Avery said quietly out of the corner of his mouth, "It's about Harry. Er… you're brother's been given a week's detention. Nott just told me. He's gone and done it again, and it doesn't portend well with your reputation, you know."

Tom shrugged, looking somewhat annoyed. Why weren't these delivered interruptions ever good news? "Who cares? Harry's gotten plenty of detentions… what?" he hissed, growing more irritated as the other boy fidgeted around him like a nervous rat. "What did he do to get it?"

"He chinned Dolohov for poking fun at that disgusting half-giant he socializes with in the courtyard! He's making himself trouble, if you ask me. Cuffing a fellow Slytherin, someone so loyal to you, Voldemort, should be dealt with. That's all I'm saying…"

"What would you like me to do, hmm? Shall I punish him? Tell me what would you like to see done with _my_ brother?" With thick sarcasm in place, Tom glowered menacingly at the seventh year boy. _So much for the warm approach..._

Avery paled considerably. He shook his head softly, so weary of angering his fellow housemate. He glanced around the room to be sure no other student was yet around, and then lowered his voice to a mere whisper to be sure. "No one will take us seriously if this is allowed to carry on, Lord Voldemort. Harry and his friends laugh at us. The other students like him, follow him around like he's better than you! They're starting to laugh at us, too. I don't see how you could want this to carry on."

"Hmm," Tom hummed while scratching his chin in thought. Perhaps Avery had a valid point about the lack of respect his followers were receiving. It would not bode well to lose any amount of fear he had instilled upon the weaker of their peers. Harry was… defiant, a silly-heart, a freer spirit than he had been in the past. His life at Hogwarts exploded with promise. To think that a Slytherin could befriend such a motley crew of rejects and cherish their company was beyond Tom's grasp. It occurred to him that perhaps he had again allowed his brother's fate to move too far to one edge. _Love was important, yes, powerful… but maybe it could be manipulated and forced. _Tom looked back at Avery with no hint of emotion showing on his face. "You should teach him a lesson."

"Me? Harry?" Again, Avery felt the remainder of blood pool from his face. His hands went cold. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, you, Nott, Dolohov… Why don't you do something about this and take Harry down a peg? His behaviour has indeed gotten a bit messier than I'd hoped. Teach him a valuable lesson, remind him where he comes from and who he shows his loyalty to."

Afraid to ask, Avery shifted his feet nervously in place. Tom was so intimidating, so unforgiving, and had never asked him to take on a task as daunting before. Any minor mistake could lead to severe punishment, or worse; banishment from their house and from the Death Eaters. "Hhhow?" he stammered fretfully.

"Don't do it backhanded, he is my brother after all. I want you three to pool your brains together on this. I don't have the time to waste on it." Tom fell back against the emerald green couch he was so fond of, propping his arms over the top and letting his head loll against the soft cushion. He arched his chest in a stretch, letting the wondrous feeling run down to his toes. "A good scare, an amount of pain… nothing too drastic… Give him a damn good reason to come crawling back to where he belongs. I want Harry back the way he was."

"Yes, my Lord," Avery chanted to him, and bowed before fleeing from the common room.

It was true; Harry had gotten a little too big for his britches, which served no other purpose than to create more and more problems for Tom. He loved him – more than anything – more than life and limb and all of that rubbish in between… He wanted Harry to reciprocate, to be his one and only lover and drop these nuisances he called 'friends'. They were unneeded, a hindrance, and took away from this bond they had between them. But Harry would not come quietly, not as long as _they_ were still around. Tom would have to do something about them, too.

* * *

In the darkness, fumbling with adolescent awkwardness and ignoring the sloppy wet returns between their tongues, Harry pushed himself closer to Druella to feel her body tightly pressed against his. The storage cupboard in the back of the potions classroom was hardly the most romantic place for a good and thorough snogging, but neither seemed to care about a few extra cobwebs or the Murlap essence they were slipping around in. Several bottles of the yellowy goo had fallen to the floor and shattered, making it all the more important for the two to remain as close to the wall of shelves, and each other, as possible.

Druella Rosier was quite possibly the prettiest girl in school. She was short and petite, with light blond hair that cascaded over her shoulders like spun silver and gold. She had a reputation for playing naughty regardless of her betrothing to Orion Black, who just so happened to be Harry's former best mate.

"Gods," he groaned, and reached up to rub the scar on his forehead. The annoying prickle had been plaguing him since their stumbling, mouth to mouth, into the cupboard minutes before.

"I know," Druella mumbled as she reached behind her back to unclasp her brassiere, "It's so warm, isn't it? Maybe you could help me with my shirt." Despite the frigid temperature of the small room, the heat between them had exceeded a comfortable level.

Harry nodded to her as his trembling fingers flicked away the buttons of her shirt. He pulled it apart, exposing her encased breasts with his mouth hung open like a fish. Her school tie hung beautifully between the cleavage, sashaying in a lovely way as she shucked the hindering clothing off and returned to working on the bra clasp.

"Help me out, will you?"

A painful jolt of electrical _keep-your-fucking-hands-off-her_ hit Harry like a ton of bricks the instant his fingers found the clasp. Nearly blinded in agony, he took a step back and a deep breath while it subsided. "Sorry," he said through a cringe.

"We can do this another time if you're not feeling well," she said, reaching down to retrieve her clothing. "It's all right."

"No, I'm fine," Harry promised, biting his lower lip. He pressed his body against hers before she was given the chance to redress, and kissed her softly. She was not Tom, and that suited him well. Tom was a git. Tom was a bastard who kept telling him what to do. This was what Harry needed now, something to take his mind off of the plans to defeat Hufflepuff in their next match, and that silly pang in his heart that told him that this was the wrong thing to do to Orion to get back at him. And as their bodies twined together and their lips parted, Harry's scar blissfully stopped hurting.

There was a slight rumbling sound outside that they chose to ignore. Harry found his hands moving along Druella's thighs, pushing the material of her uniform skirt upward. It was terrifying to think too much into his actions. He swallowed hard, praying she could not feel how shaky he was. She was the only Slytherin he knew who was willing to give his friends a chance; he did not want to ruin that.

The door to the cupboard opened, and Harry's euphoria plummeted back down to earth with a noisy _crash_. "I thought so! I'm telling on you, Harry Gaunt! You are in so much trouble! How dare you two soil Professor Slughorn's stores with this disgusting act of fornication!"

"You ugly, fat little snitch!" Druella shouted back as she buttoned her shirt up. Her eyes were glued to Myrtle's, the most annoying Ravenclaw Prefect the school had ever known.

Harry ran a trembling hand through his messy hair and adjusted his awry glasses. Myrtle was incessantly spying on him to get him into trouble. She was an absolute pest. "You're not really going to tell on me again, are you? I'm going to be in detention for the rest of my life at this rate," he asked her quietly, noting the tears welling up her eyes.

"You'd better believe I'll be informing Headmaster Dippet of your doings," she said through a sniffle.

Druella shoved past her, knocking her on her bum. "See you later, Harry."

"And I'm telling on you too, Rosier!" Myrtle shrieked.

"C'mon," Harry said, sighing and holding a hand out to the stout girl to help her up. Myrtle took his hand. Her eyes were glistening with tears behind her thick glasses, causing her to look away from the boy she so dearly wished would drag her off into a dark cupboard. "Myrtle, please reconsider. If Tom found out about this…"

"He already knows!" she cried, wringing her hands in her skirt. Her nervous actions were strangely familiar to Harry, the girl reminded him of his mother. "He's the one who sent me to fetch you." She stomped off with her face covered by her hands, wailing like a banshee.

Harry's heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he followed her out, and caught sight of Tom waiting at the end of the corridor. Myrtle was whispering something in his ear. Tom's dark and narrowed eyes suddenly bored straight into him.

"Of course it would be right to inform the headmaster," Tom said, patting the Muggle-born girl on the shoulder like a good little lapdog. "That was an awful, rotten thing for him to do. And you say that she was half nude? My goodness…"

With the pinkest face, Harry stepped forward as Tom beckoned him over. He gripped Harry's arm, squeezing the flesh like a vice. "But I think, just this once, we'll let him slide. How's that sound, Myrtle?"

"Okay," she said reluctantly. "Just this once."

Tom gave her a wink and a grin. "Wonderful. I'll take care of him now. Run along." The moment she moved out of view, Tom threw Harry up against the cold stone dungeon wall. The grin faded. "What were you doing, you little letch?"

Harry rubbed the lump forming on the crown of his head. "There's no need for violence!" he spat back.

With a disgruntled sigh, Tom roughly pressed his hand over the boy's mouth as he pinned him hard against the wall. "Do you love me? Just nod or shake your head," he ordered quietly. Harry nodded uncertainly. He baulked to get away, but Tom shoved back harder. "You're little games are growing quite tiresome. You will learn to accept me; there is no other way, Harry. You're mine." Harry's eyes grew dark as he defiantly shook his head.

God, he loved the little rebel in him. Tom would never dare break that free spirit; he just wanted Harry to love him as much as he loved him. "Oh, yes you will," Tom continued. "You love me, I know you love me, and you want me to take care of you. You want me to do this, baby, you just won't admit it." He could feel the arousal growing between them. He pressed harder, rolling his hips, and Harry made that luscious purring sound in the depths of his throat that Tom so dearly longed to hear.

"I do realise that you're rebelling in some way now that we've moved up in this world and mummy is getting proper treatment. It's understandable, but it's getting out of hand. And if I ever catch you again with that little tramp—I'll hurt you both, got it?" Tom pulled his hand away from Harry's mouth, tipping his chin up with a knuckle. "Got it?"

"You do it all the time," Harry retorted, fuming.

"Is that what this is about?" Tom smirked. "I'm older than you, and I don't fancy a single one of them."

"I don't believe you." No matter how saucy Harry had become, he was still so young, so wet. He thrust against Tom's slow grinding, panting through parted and puffy lips. His arms slipped around the taller boy's neck as his head tipped back against the wall.

Tom placed a kiss on Harry's neck, sighing against the flush skin. "Would I be here right now I cared about anyone other than you?" He sucked the skin into his mouth, and Harry groaned. "You drive me mad, Harry… simply mad."

"I do love you, Tom. I'm sorry," Harry whispered back. "I'll work on it, okay?"

Everything was in motion, set to play out. Tom cupped Harry's face sweetly, nodding. His words meant little; Tom could see the lies he was telling in the glowing green of his irises. Harry had no intention of stopping this newfound mischief. He would not cease defying him… not yet.

He kissed him full on the mouth, tasting his sweet tongue. "Come on, let's get to bed," he said, releasing the smaller boy from the wall.

And as he turned to follow him, the glint of something reflecting off of glass caught his eye. Tom looked back and saw her; that bitch Moaning Myrtle duck back behind the wall. The sounds of her footsteps pounded off. She had seen them, she had seen it all.

* * *


	8. Only One Horcrux

Chapter 8

Only One Horcrux

Within the depths of the dungeon, the dark and dank lowest level, the soft weeping sounds of a girl resounded off of the runny stone walls. The silhouettes of two persons moved deeper into the cavernous bowels until, at last, there was nowhere left to go. A founded fear emanated from her like a wondrous aura. Her wrist burned under the tight grip rubbing against the skin. She was thrust against the wall, and her head bounced on the stone.

"Shut the fuck up, Myrtle," Tom ordered as he towered over her to prevent her escape.

The portly girl hiccoughed several times as she attempted to catch her breath. "I told you already, I didn't tell a soul!" she pleaded with him. Her knees knocked together and buckled, but Tom quickly righted her by thrusting her back against the wall.

"You did, you stupid bitch, I can see it in your eyes. Who did you tell?"

Myrtle's blubbering was almost too much. Tom felt a powerful pull to shut her up permanently, but that would not do. He needed to know who and how many she had blabbed to before the word got out around to the whole school. Instead, giving her a quick dose of the Cruciatus Curse seemed more reasonable to him, and he did just that.

He leaned back against the end of the tunnel and picked at a fingernail while the girl recovered on her hands and knees. A gaudy gold ring sat upon his middle finger, the large black stone set in the centre glimmered from the reflection of his lighted wand tip. "You ready to tell me yet?" he asked her quietly, unwilling to look up from the little hangnail giving him such agitation.

"Mina Bulstrode," she said - and retched on the floor.

Tom scowled. "That cow? She'll tell the whole school."

Myrtle shook her head adamantly. "She won't! I swore her to secrecy!"

"Look at me," he said, kneeling to her level. He lifted her chin and gazed deeply into her eyes. "Are you telling me that you've snitched to only Mina and no one else?"

"Yes, I promise," Myrtle whimpered, and Tom believed her.

He pointed his wand at her, feeling quite cheerful. _"–Obliviate!—"_

* * *

"_You are mine. Never betray me..."_

Harry flinched, rubbing his scar. "Professor Merrythought?"

Galatea Merrythought, professor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, looked up from her papers. Her piled-on, silver-streaked hair bobbled as her head stilled. She peered at the boy through pointy, rhinestone embedded glasses. "Yes, dear?" Her voice was gruff and sultry, fitting quite well with her sluggish demeanour.

Harry pointed to the clock on the wall, indicating that his detention had come to an end. "Can I go now, miss?"

The elderly woman propped herself up to look over her desk at the parchment Harry had been writing his lines on. "Have you learned your lesson, then? You never strike another student, no matter what. You go to a teacher and let them deal with it. Am I to be understood?"

"Yes, miss. I won't do it again," Harry replied in earnest.

"Good, I don't want to see you in detention for the rest of the year. People will start to talk about how much time we're spending together." She cocked an eyebrow as Harry burst into a fit of embarrassed giggling while he packed his things away. "I mean it, Harry. You're behaviour may affect your marks if you don't settle down soon. Also," she added, holding up a finger to stop the boy before he dashed from the room, "I haven't gotten a reply from your parents yet. I sent off an owl over a week ago to discuss this excessively naughty behaviour of yours and no one has yet to respond."

Harry closed his gaping mouth and clutched the handle of his bag as hard as he could. "I'm sorry, miss," he stammered, "My father died over the summer, and my mummy's been institutionalised at St. Mungo's for being nutters." There, he said it. He hadn't said it before to anyone, and he as certain that Tom hadn't either, but it was shocking to find out that none of the staff at Hogwarts knew anything about it.

"And who are you staying on with?" she asked firmly, hiding her shock. "…Over the holidays, Harry?"

He shrugged. What did it matter to her where he was staying? "With Tom, miss; we've got a house in Richmond."

"And he's just turned seventeen?"

Harry nodded. He did not like where this questioning seemed to be heading. The woman's smile had faded. She scratched something onto a piece of old parchment while she sized Harry up and down. This was none of her sodding business. "What about your grandparents or other relatives, dear? Is there anyone else I can get in touch with?"

"Er…" Harry stared hypnotically at a spot on the floor. "No, not really. Only got an uncle, but he's in Azkaban Fortress for murdering my father and grandparents, miss."

"Oh my," Merrythought gushed. Her gaunt, hollow cheeks flushed with life. "And there's no one else? You're staying on with your brother unsupervised? Harry, I'm not sure I can allow this to continue. You need proper supervision during the holidays, what with magic and—"

"My brother's been taking care of me since I was a baby, miss," he spat back, growing quickly defensive. What was she insinuating? That Tom and he were running amuck without a care? They had plenty of money now, thanks to the Riddle fortune; they didn't need anyone to look after them! So he cuffed a few dunderheads who thoroughly deserved it, and tossed some dungbombs into empty classrooms when no one was looking. Big deal! He always finished his homework, studied relentlessly for every exam, and even brushed his teeth every night before he went to bed. Tom would murder him for this slip of the tongue… he should have lied. "Can I go now?"

Merrythought nodded reluctantly. "Yes, of course, Harry. Good night."

Tossing his bag over his shoulder, Harry pushed through the classroom door to get away. He had said too much, he knew that. Oh, Merlin, he was going to hear it. If anyone started poking around into their pasts and discovered that Morfin had not actually committed the crimes he was being held for… No, he would not think about that. He wished he didn't know. They should have told the truth in the beginning. But Tom Riddle was going to kill his brother! There was no other way to handle it! What was he —?

With a sudden _bang_ that filled the empty corridor, Harry's legs inexplicably locked together. He plummeted, face-first, to the floor. Seething, he pushed himself up and looked behind. "Ow," he hissed, spotting Cygnus Black and Druella Rosier closing in on him. "What was that for?"

"That was for telling Orion about how _you_ took advantage of me in the potions stores!" Druella growled. Cygnus shared her dark guise as he put his arm around her shoulder. Her wand was pointed threateningly at Harry's face. "He won't speak to me anymore, and his family's broken off our engagement!"

Harry gaped back at her, awed. "I did not tell anyone! I swear! It was probably Myrtle!"

Druella shook her head. "No, it was you – he told me so! Anyway, _—Rictusempra!—"_ she cried – and a jet of bright light shot from the tip of her wand, hitting Harry square in the chest. "That's for snitching!"

Every muscle in his torso tensed to the point of snapping as the jinx assaulted Harry's nerves and skin. He laughed uncontrollably at the sensation, it bringing tears to his eyes as he scrambled to pull his wand from his robes. "Druella don't—oh, bloody hell, make it stop!" he screeched.

"I hope you're sore for a week!" she shouted back, leaving the boy in a writhing mass on the floor. Cygnus snickered, still holding her around the shoulders as they left him to deal with the hex on his own.

* * *

Sitting cross-legged on his bed, with a book propped on his bare knees, Tom looked up as Harry dragged himself into his dormitory room and threw himself beside him. Hiding a well deserved smirk, he closed his text and set it down. "Problems, Harry? You look like something the cat's dragged in." 

The rest of the Slytherin sixth year boys were glaring at Harry. Something very strange was afoot. "No, never better," he mocked cheerfully, smiling up at the handsome visage looming above him. He tucked his hands behind his head and stretched his aching muscles to relax.

"Why is he always in here? Why doesn't he sleep in his own dormitory?"

Tom's posture stiffened. "Mind your fucking business, Rookwood."

The pimply-faced boy in the bed across from them gulped.

"He's my little brother and the only family I got left, and I want him close to me whenever possible. Do you have a problem with that, you pathetic, fucking troll?"

Harry snorted loudly. Augustus Rookwood stilled his ragged breath and shook his head at Tom with sincerity. "No, that's fine. I'm sorry, Tom… so sorry."

"Yeah, Slughorn doesn't mind, so shut up," Harry added, and was immediately clipped on the cheek for his outburst. His glare remained fixed on the other boys until Yaxley, Nott, Dolohov, and Bagman all averted their attention and closed their curtains. Rookwood followed closely behind with shaky fingers.

Harry reached up and pulled the drawstring to close theirs and turned quickly to face Tom, immediately dropping the tough-guy act and looking even more ragged than he had when he arrived. "We got a problem!"

Tom fell back against his pillows, rolling his eyes. "What about?"

Fisting his hair, Harry took a deep breath before spewing his guts out to Tom. "Merrythought's been asking me questions about us and our family. She said I'm far too young to be staying on with only you for supervision during holidays. What if she puts me in an orphanage, Tom? What if someone interrogates Morfin and finds out the truth about Riddle?"

"What the hell did you tell her?" Tom hissed viciously. He rose up, gripping Harry's jaw, looking into his eyes.

Harry growled at him, slapping his hand away. "Nothing about that, idiot! It was just the way she was looking at me."

Tom sighed. Harry was always so paranoid about everything. "I'm seventeen, plenty old enough to care for you while school is out. I think my sparkling reputation supersedes any old orphanage. If you'd stop getting into trouble we wouldn't have these issues poking up."

"Yeah, it's all come back to bite me on my bum," Harry mumbled. "Just the other day, Minerva accused me of telling Hufflepuff's Chaser about this move we invented, allowing him to one-up her during their match. She's not talking to me. Olive Hornby said I was a true Slytherin and ran off crying. I don't even want to think about why. And just now, Drue—er... Orion told someone I did something rather nasty. At this rate, I won't have any friends left."

"Oh, who needs them anyway?" Tom fit in between Harry's ramble.

"Funny thing is – I don't get how anyone could have known about that move. We didn't practice it in the open. We worked it out on paper in the library together. And Orion said that it was me who told him when I plainly didn't!"

Harry curled into Tom's embrace, clearly dejected. He seemed more depressed than Tom could remember him being. It was working. Using Legilimency on Harry while he slept had been a wonderful tool to learn all of his secrets. He would never suspect own, dear brother of such acts. It was for the best though. These cretins who were slowly turning on him were poison for the boy. Now Harry could concentrate on his studies and stop getting into unneeded trouble.

"My scar hurts, Tom, make it go away, please."

"Course," Tom whispered. After folding his glasses and setting them aside, Tom pressed his thumbs against Harry's temples while the boy undressed. He caressed the fine skin and baby soft hairs feathered in soft waves of ink black. With Harry's head tipped back into his lap and his eyes closed, Tom looked at him more closely. He hadn't really noticed how different their features were before. Tom's were sculpted, his jaw strong, his dark eyes set deep; classically handsome. Harry's features were soft; the end of his nose was upturned, his lips were bowed and pink and his bright green eyes were almond-shaped. He didn't look like anyone Tom could think of. Certainly not their mother or father; disfigured or chiselled. Perhaps he had taken on Riddle's mother's features. Tom hadn't gotten a very good look at her before he snuffed out her life. She could have been pretty at one time. Yes, Harry probably did inherit her likeness… A pity he would never know.

"Harry?" Tom whispered, giving the boy a subtle shake. "Let's go to sleep, alright? I'm tired."

"Mhmm…" Harry moaned, and curled deeper into Tom's arms.

Tom pulled a duvet over them and snuggled in. "Baby, you all right?"

"'m scared, Tom," he whispered, and nudged his lips against his brother's chin, drawing them slowly up to his mouth. "What are we going to do?"

"Don't worry," Tom whispered back. He could feel Harry's fingers grazing along the elastic of his pants. Shivers of pleasure ran across his flushed skin. "I'm going to take care of you."

* * *

Throwing a book across the room, Tom could not find the strength to look at another paragraph on the properties of doxy eggs without vomiting. He was alone this day. He hadn't wanted to venture off to Hogsmeade as all of the other older students did. The quaint little village was full of absolutely nothing that held his interest. 

On the other end of the spectrum, Harry had squealed at the chance to go. He had missed his first outing due to detention and another for lack of permission, but had finally acquired his mother's signature over the Christmas holidays, and was dying for this day to come.

Try as he might, Tom busied himself with studying and keeping his mind on useful things, and not Harry. The younger boy had been heartbroken by all of his 'so-called' friends abandoning him so impulsively. Only Rubeus Hagrid seemed immune to the false memories implanted in his head. He was as thick as he was massive; the magic almost seemed to bounce off of him when Tom cast it, and he couldn't be sure whether it was idiocy or heritage that prevented it from working. He'd have to study up on giants and their weaknesses if he was going to try and tackle that obstacle again.

Oddly enough, a failed spell was not the source of Tom's anxiety. Something strange kept pricking at his mind and conscience. His heart had been beating at a rapid pace all morning, and his thoughts vaulted from one thing to another without control. He rocked in place on his bed, wand in hand, eyes averted to the corner of the room where Dolohov's bed sat.

_Dolohov_…

Harry had clocked him in the courtyard some time back. There was something Tom had – yes… he had ordered his friends to take the boy down a notch. _That's it! Oh hell..._

It suddenly occurred to Tom that he did not want that to happen. He was pushing Harry too hard too fast, and could seriously fuck with his head for no good reason at all. Stability was not a trait his mother or father had blessed either boy with; one wrong move and Harry might just up and crack. Tom had done enough to him already. Harry was practically friendless, and people shoved him in the halls as he passed. He'd been hexed and jinxed more than once, and he cried on Tom's shoulder two nights in a row without saying a word. This worry about Merrythought and her idle threats of an orphanage had really hit home. Harry was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was far too young to be so tense and worried all day and night.

He stood up and slipped his loafers on, not bothering with a robe or anything other than his wand. The Death Eaters were going to strike today; he could feel it in his bones. He threw open the door to the common room and ran straight away through the castle, to the path leading off to Hogsmeade.

* * *

As the first of the shops came into plain view, Tom breathed a heavy, laden sigh, seeing nothing out of the ordinary on the busy street. Winded as he was, he pressed on, ignoring the awful stitch in his side. He had to find Harry to be sure he was all right. He had left to venture here with that beast, Rubeus, who would be positively easy to spot in the dense crowd. 

Moving along the street, faces blurred before him. He could recognise no one. His heart beat faster than it had while running; Harry was nowhere in sight!

"Tom! Oh, Tom!" Wearing a mink stole and high heels that clicked on the pavement; Walburga ran up to Tom's side and threaded her hand through the spot between his arm and body. Pulling him to a halt, she pointed to the boy standing awkwardly beside her. "Have you heard about Orion and me? I suppose I should thank your brother," she said in a sly wisp. "We've been betrothed. Yes, he's a bit younger than I am, but look at this ring!" She thrust her hand out and wiggled her fingers around to show off the huge diamond ring she was wearing.

Tom was thrown off-kilter by her words, understanding nothing. There was only one thing on his mind, and hearing the word 'brother' dropped him quickly back down to earth. "I… er, what?" he said, looking at both of them with bewilderment. "Wonderful, congratulations and all that. Have you seen Harry around?"

Walburga pulled away and looked over her shoulder. "Right old trouble-maker, he is… He's probably in the cafe with his hands in some slapper's knickers." Orion snickered sycophantically out of the corner of his mouth. "Oh, look who it is," she sing-songed, pointing to two podgy girls and one very gangly looking boy making their way through the crowd to enter Honeydukes. "Moping Myrtle and grotty Mina. They're always following Harry around like dumpy little puppies. Why don't you ask them?"

With a nod, Tom parted the students to reach them, gripping Bulstrode by the shoulder. Myrtle and the boy, Filbert Fawcett, stopped beside them. "Hey, where's Harry?"

Both girls cringed. "I d-don't know!" Mina stammered, wavering, unsure as to why she felt this sudden bout of nervousness around the Prefect. He was angry with her… something… she couldn't remember. "Haven't seen him once."

Myrtle shared her reaction and slowly scooted her way to the entrance to Honeydukes. She did not feel at all comfortable sitting under his fierce glare and set jaw. Tom looked wild-eyed, as if something had really upset him. "Might want to try The Three Broomsticks, Gaunt. He might have gone there with the Gryffindors."

_If these two twats haven't seen him around…_ "What about Hagrid – have you seen him?"

Filbert nodded excitedly, having been given the chance to actually speak to the most popular boy in school. "Yes! I saw him wandering around by the Joke Shop a short while back!"

Tom gave Mina a shove off and moved on down the length of High Street without a word of thanks. He was far too tense, panting through his mouth, and his hands shook with adrenaline. If only there were some way to contact Nott and Avery, and put a stop to whatever they had planned! "I'm so stupid," he breathed unsteadily to himself, eyes darting to and fro over the heads of others to catch sight of the half-giant or any of his friends.

"Hagrid!" he nearly screamed, seeing the exceedingly large boy pacing back and forth next to an alleyway.

"Tom," Rubeus said, surprised. "Harry said you weren' interested in Hogsmeade!"

Tom's peripheral vision immediately picked out the flowing auburn hair and sharp purples of the robes encasing the man staring back at him. He turned his head and looked directly at Albus Dumbledore, who, in return, smiled at him and tipped his head. Tom clenched his teeth. Everything was falling apart. Where in the hell was Harry?

"Hagrid," he said, focusing again on the half-giant. "Where is he?"

Rubeus shrugged unknowingly. "I've been waitin' on him. We was talkin', and when I looked down, he up and disappeared. I reckon he went into Zonko's, on'y I can' go in… been banned from there."

Tom glanced back at Dumbledore worriedly. The man's happy façade had faded. He could go to him, ask him for help. Surely, someone like Dumbledore, who as powerful as Grindelwald, would know how to find Harry. No, wait! If he did, he'd have to tell Dumbledore what was happening. He could not risk losing Harry this way, but he could chance losing Harry if he got hurt, too.

"Afternoon, Tom."

Tom jumped. "What?" he cried, caught again off guard. Albus was now standing right in front of him.

"Is something the matter?"

"No," Tom said quickly. "Er, you haven't seen Harry around, have you?"

Albus adjusted his glasses as he looked around the area. "I'm afraid I haven't. Is there something wrong, anything I should know about?"

"Course not. I was just looking for him," Tom snapped. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him, to admit to being a sneaky git who couldn't control his own emotions and had set loose the hounds upon his brother. This had more to do with merely conceding to Grindelwald's nemesis, this was his brother's fragile existence dangling from a thread. "Professor, that's not exactly the whole truth… I'm worried about—"

"Well, there 'e is!" Hagrid shouted.

Tom whirled around, seeing Harry emerge from the alleyway. He was holding something in his hands, looking curiously back at the trio. "I found a snake," he chirped, holding up a beautiful specimen wrapped tightly around his wrist. "I heard her—ouch!"

Before he could finish, Tom nudged Harry's shoulder to shut him up. He'd be damned if he was going to let the boy slip up and give away any unneeded information about his ability to talk to snakes in front of Dumbledore, of all people. "Where have you been?" he growled, and carefully looked Harry over for any obvious signs of brutality. "I was so sure you were in trouble… had this feeling… I don't know, never mind." He had to shut his own self up now, take a deep breath, and not give off the impression that he was a sodding worry-wart in front of everyone. He hid his hands, clasping them behind his back to hide the residual shaking. Looking like anything less than a proper wizard, especially in front of Dumbledore, would never sit well with him.

"My boy, that's a mighty dangerous snake you're handling there," Albus commented, looking down at the serpent over his half-moons. "I wouldn't want anyone to be bitten, or set on fire."

"Oh, you don't have to worry, Professor," Harry said proudly, smiling back at the man. "I'm not going to keep her, and she has no desire to stir up any trouble. I heard her moving around in the grass and she saw my bite marks here." He pointed to the two small, silvery scars adorning his hand, and ran a slender finger along the length of the serpent's scaly spine in a loving manner. "Snakes are very observant and curious creatures."

"Tha's an Ashwinder, Harry!" Hagrid cried with fascination. He nearly swooned in place with adoration for his best mate's ability to handle such a frightening reptile. "You can ask it ter tell i's friends not ter torch the _you-know-whats_ anymore!"

Tom's stomach knotted up. Harry's big, fat mouth was going to land them in deeper hot water. Hagrid the half-wit obviously knew about their special ability.

At least Harry was safe. Yes, safe…

Albus tipped his head in appreciation. His eyes twinkled with a newfound interest in the boy. "And she perceived you as no threat, as the mark on your wrist entails. The bite of a viper without it delivering venom is quite a significant story in its own, Harry."

"Right, well," Tom hastily interrupted, plucking the snake from Harry's hand. Albus studied the two boys' actions. Intriguingly, neither of them seemed to hold any fear for the poisonous and flammable beasts. Tom set the snake on the street and waved it off. "We should head back, Harry. There's something important I need to talk to you about."

"I haven't gotten a gift for mummy yet – Tom!" Harry protested, as he was grappled and dragged away from the others. He waved a quick good-bye to Hagrid and disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

As final exams were well underway, most every student busied themselves with studying their subjects. The warm weather had brought most of them outside to relax in between, or sit under the trees with texts propped on their knees. Harry was no exception. He and Hagrid had spent the better part of their day lounging by the lake, skipping rocks between course studies for fun. 

Tossing a skipping rock as hard as he could before falling back to the soft grass, Harry sighed. He flipped through his Arithmancy book with a troubled look. Tom had promised to help him study again, but had yet to arrive and Harry was dying to talk to him. The trouble he knew might stir up again at the end of the year just jumped out and slapped him in the face. "I got another detention."

"What for now, school's nearly out." Hagrid said, and tossed a jagged bit of limestone into the lake. "Don' tell me it were Dolohov again… yeh need ter stay far away from him."

"I know, but I really hate him," Harry replied, shrugging.

Hagrid shifted his girth, propping himself on an elbow to be more at Harry's eye level. "Yeh shouldn' say tha', Harry; hate's a strong word."

"Well, I do… I fucking hate him." He grabbed another rock from the pile and chucked it as far as he could. "He's no better than you or me, and you saw what he tried to do at Hogsmeade! He was just too bloody stupid to get a hex off properly."

"Is tha' what the detention's for? I'll testify that he struck firs'!"

Harry shook his head. "It's not. He was assisting Professor Slughorn in potions class today and spiked my cauldron with some sneezewort, so I dumped it on him." He stifled a laugh as Hagrid did, until neither could contain themselves. They burst into laughter and fell back against the earth, feeling very vindicated. "You should have seen him, Hagrid; he couldn't remember his own name for a moment and was running around in circles with smoke coming out of his ears. He looked like a great big choo-choo train."

"_Yes, very funny."_

Harry and Hagrid froze and looked up. Tom was standing over them, scowling. "Shouldn't you be leaving, Hagrid?" he asked darkly, and Harry's jaw dropped open.

Hagrid stood up and straightened his shirt. "Righ', see yeh aroun', Harry."

"You don't have to go—Tom, you bastard—Hagrid, wait!" But Hagrid walked off, tossing Harry a brisk wave as he moved away from the path. Harry pursed his lips while Tom situated his robes over the grass for a proper place to sit. "He's like… my last friend, you know. Could you please try not to frighten him off? You're such an idiot."

Ignoring him, Tom grabbed up the Arithmancy textbook and began reading over the index. "So what parts are giving you trouble now? I thought you understood it well enough the last time we went over it."

"I suppose I should just get it out right now," Harry said haughtily. Tom looked up from the book, cocking an eyebrow, and Harry's eyes drifted off toward the lake as he rubbed briskly at his scar. "I'm in trouble again."

Snapping the book shut with a _bang_, Tom's huffed. "I knew it. You can't fucking control yourself, Harry. What in Merlin's name have you done now?"

"It doesn't matter. We've got bigger problems than that."

"Like what?" Tom hissed.

Harry was twisting his jumper in his hands and chewing liberally on his lip. He pulled his knees into his chest, hugging them for comfort. Detentions were one thing, but murder was something altogether different. He had felt this encompassing sense of dread all afternoon. Something very bad was going to happen. "Merrythought made me stay after class today and told me she wants me to come to the headmaster's office for some sort of meeting tonight. Do you think it might have anything to do with my mummy being in the hospital? Maybe they checked up on Morfin."

"Stop worrying about it," Tom warned him.

"But we killed someone," Harry whispered frantically.

"Is that what's bothering you? Is it really getting to you, Harry? Big deal, I killed a man and his disgusting parents… they deserved it. They wanted to keep you from me and mummy."

Harry shook his head. "I know… I just don't want you to go to prison. I don't want to go to an orphanage either," Harry admitted, looking down in his lap.

Tom froze, his breath caught tight in his throat. _He skipped right past it… Harry didn't care that he had murdered the Riddles…_ There was a feeling of pure, unadulterated elation that began to flow through his bloodstream, moving along every part of his body until it curled the corners of his lips.

Harry was rubbing his scar while emulating Tom's wicked grin. Their eyes locked.

"I've done worse," Tom confessed with caution, studying Harry very carefully. "A lot worse." He expected Harry to scream, to bolt off screaming and yelling—but he didn't.

"I know, Tom."

"And I like it… I'm not going to stop."

"I know, Tom."

Harry had to admit to himself, at last, that not everything was black and white, and regardless of the lives that were destroyed in the process – a little selfish part of him was glad. It hurt when he realised that Tom was not the white-winged angel Harry always thought of him as, but at the same token, his results had set them free. No one was pure, except maybe Hagrid, but no one else. Everyone had their flaws. "I don't like it, but I don't hate you for it."

Tom smirked darkly. "And I'll kill anyone else who tries to tear us apart, anyone who gets in our way… they will die just like Mr Riddle," and then paused before adding, "I love you."

And that clinched it. The euphoria swelled and swirled around Harry's heart, plunging to his nethers. _Fuck, this is so wrong…_ He wanted so badly to listen to reason, to answer the calling in his heart that would fight against this sin. Good was always better than evil, and Harry was not inherently evil. This was madness! How could hearing Tom utter something so wicked feel so fucking good? It was sexy, unbridled, and raw. They had spent their whole lives surviving, and the stakes were only growing. All they had was each other; he had his way, Tom had his, but both melded as one in the end.

"I love you, too, Tom."

"I know some things that maybe I shouldn't. If we stick together, nothing can stop us." He took Harry by the shoulders. "I did pretty well with altering Morfin's memories, there's no reason I can't get Headmaster Dippet to see my way of thinking on this matter. Let me do all the talking, okay?"

Let him talk; let him take him – heart, mind, soul – whatever he wanted. Harry felt the reassurance in Tom's words and expression push the worry aside. "Course," he said.

Standing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, watching the two boys walk arm in arm toward the castle, Draco Malfoy snorted. "I see we're not needed after all. Someone's growing up."

The tall, masculine man standing beside him chortled in return. His jet black hair flowed softly in the breeze. He was swathed in a handsome suit and clutched a brimmed hat, prepared to take on the mistakes the boys had created for themselves. Instead, he watched them form as one to conquer this conundrum; and he was pleased. "I grow more impressed with each passing day. I feel it in my heart; guilt, empathy, worries. He understands, Draco. It's only a matter of time. He... I love Harry. I can feel it growing so strongly."

"Is that why you've changed, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord smiled. His eyes, flecked with brilliant scarlet flickered with life. "I do now understand that there is only the need for one Horcrux. Yes, only one…"

* * *


	9. Breaking the Mould

Chapter 9

Breaking the Mould

December, 1944

As the World War came that much closer to an end, and the sounds of bombs exploding around them had been silenced, the quaint town of Richmond slowly began to recuperate. An overview of the town showed nothing but obscurity. Where once fairy lights twinkled in the darkness, the fine peoples of the area dared not bring any attention to the constant aircraft flying overhead.

One such house made a vacant exception.

The large oriel window of the pretty, grey-bricked house was continuously lit up at the end of a crowded residential street; a myriad of colours radiated from it throughout the day and it had nothing to do with it being Christmas.

_Thunk!_

"Damnit, Tom!" Harry could barely contain the heat in his voice as she shook the pain out of his left arm. The tail end of a Stinging Hex had gone right through his shield and bit the ever-loving hell out of his wrist. Tom was standing across the room with the snootiest look on his face that Harry was drooling to wipe off. "Show some restraint, please. I didn't say this type of shield would hold off every single bit of magic you throw at me. The matrix of it does weaken, you know… bastard."

"And that's exactly why I'm trying to show you that a tangible shield is superior. You can clearly see mine weakening; no bothersome guesswork needed. It's obvious that putting up a force field of magic to protect you is not near as powerful as conjuring up a solid piece of metal." Tom drew his wand up to the ready once more. His eyes flashed with challenge. "Reapply it the instant you think its coming and not a second before. Got it? I want it at full strength this time."

Harry nodded. "A big, old shield isn't going to protect you from a spell with any sort of area of effect in its radius. Why not just carry it around and put up a force field when you need it?"

Tom rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, no, it's far too heavy and makes a lot of noise. Anyway, stop trying to delay the inevitable. You're wondrous theory was flawed, and now you have to pay for that mistake!"

A jet of red light filled Harry's eyes. Clenching them tightly shut, he cried out, _"–Protego!—"_ before it was too late.

The spell bounced away and hit the wall by the front door the very instant Merope decided to walk into the house.

"Boys!" she cried, dropping all of the parcels in her hands to the floor and ducking low to avoid the curse. A picture frame above her head exploded, showering her with glass. "Take this dangerous sporting outside or I'll pull your belts off and redden your arses with them!"

Tom smirked wickedly. She deserved whatever she got. Harry ran to her, cringing. He swiped at her clothes, and then waved his wand over her to remove any remaining glass fragments. "I'm so sorry, mummy. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Harry, and the baby's fine," she assured him, patting her belly.

"Baby?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Oh, please..." Tom threw his hands up and rolled his eyes, completely awed. "Still completely off your rocker, I see. You're not pregnant, mother. Go lie down before you upset Harry, and I get violent."

Pulling Harry into her arms and hugging him so tightly he could hardly breathe, she turned her focus onto the older boy. "Harry isn't old enough to be performing magic outside of school. What would happen if someone came to call on us and saw this? You must stop encouraging him!"

Tom stuffed his wand in his pocket and sighed; long and hard. He had been dreading this visit from their mother all year. He knew if he allowed Harry to talk him into getting Merope released for a visit that she could predictably fuck everything up that he had worked so hard to achieve. "Maybe you should try making a little noise before walking in like that next time. Harry and I can cast spells anywhere we want to; this is my house after all."

"Tom, you're such a high-hat. How did you get that way?" she asked him. She and Harry bent down to pick up the wrapped gifts strewn about, but her gaze remained on Tom. "I didn't raise you to treat others so poorly."

"Certainly not," he chided, dropping in a big, overstuffed chair beside the spiral staircase. "If it were up to you, we'd both be throwing ourselves at your feet and worshiping you like you're something other than you are – instead of just Harry here."

Harry glowered at him as he set the gifts down in front of the Christmas tree. "Shut up, git," he whispered to him. "Don't start with her today, I'm warning you."

Tom planted a shoe on Harry's bum as he leaned in to place one of the parcels near the centre of the tree, giving him a shove and knocking him off-balance. Harry tumbled into the decorated monstrosity, head first, sending baubles flying and getting tinsel caught in his hair. He righted himself and readjusted his spectacles, glittering and fuming. "Real classy, Tom," he growled, picking the stuff off of his shoulders.

Merope stood there proudly in her pretty coral suit and leather strap shoes, looking healthier than Tom could ever remember seeing her. Soft, dark curls framed her face and hung down past her shoulders. Her fingernails were painted bright pink, matching the ostrich-feather handbag she was clutching against her chest. She had obtained a pair of eyeglasses recently, with lenses so thick you could hardly notice the strange angles her irises were set. She looked like a mother, to him, a real mother. It was a crying shame that she had allowed Morfin to torment him and Harry all of their lives and not did one fucking thing to stop it. She could have made life so special for them; it could have been magical…

"What time are your friends arriving? I really should lie down for a spell; the baby has been kicking me all day." Merope set her handbag down on the arm of the couch perched in front of the enormous front window and scampered off toward the hallway.

"How did you know about that?" Tom cried, rising quickly from his chair.

Harry whipped around from gaping at her to look back at Tom. "Who's coming over?"

The old cat had a way of figuring things out that she ought not to know. If Tom wanted Harry to be made aware ahead of time that he had invited a few fellow Slytherins over for drinks and cards, he would have told him. Now he would have to face the inquisition.

"Oh, you know… Just a few boys from school and some that have since left, er… I think Nott, Avery, Lestrange, Dolohov, Yaxley, Black, Rookwood, Mulcibur, Bagman, and maybe Rosier. They might bring along a few others. Couple of birds might show. They're umm… well; I thought it might be a nice gesture if we had them over to our place for a sort of… gathering. You know, show them around, and get to know them a little better and all that." Tom's cheeks flushed pink and he found it difficult keeping eye contact with Harry as he spoke. He knew Harry would be opposed to this meeting, but that wasn't going to stop him from inviting them.

"That's quite a list," Harry said bitterly. "Funny how you forgot to mention anything about this to me, isn't it?" He worked over the names in his head, with each of them curling his lip more toward a sneer. _Armon Dolohov_… That pig was going to be there, in his home. The mere thought of it made him want to hex Tom's eyes out. "When are they getting here?" he asked, glancing at the large deco clock behind his brother's head.

The two of them had been on pins and needles with each other since Merope's arrival, and no relinquish looked to be in sight. Their brief moments of exuberant happiness always crashed and burned with the mere mention of their mother's name. Tom was finding it difficult having her around when all was going so well between him and Harry before. They had a lovely little home now, a cosy place with indoor plumbing and lighting and all those goodies that they thought only existed in Hogwarts. He did not like thinking about the House of Gaunt, and the stigma of a being that little rogue that he once was. All of that was gone, over, done away with…

Tom was now in a place where he felt real; he was a powerful, skilled wizard, he was Head Boy, and he was at the top of his class… Why did she have to return and make things worse?

"Look, I was hoping you wouldn't show your age over this matter, you little toddler, but I suppose you're just a little too weak to handle it. So, instead of trying to be a man about this, you can just sit in your room all night and knit some nappies with mummy."

Harry shook his head slowly, smirking. "You wish."

Tom set his jaw. "You should try and get on with some of these blokes because I'm working with them on something big. They are going to be around a lot more than you'd like. It'd be a nice gesture. Well, to me, at least."

Harry stood there for a spell, staring at him. A look of genuine inspiration creased his forehead. "So, then I can invite Hagrid over, too – right?"

"No," Tom snapped. "Are you daft?"

Harry shrugged and walked away. "I don't think I am." He gripped the railing of the staircase, curling his fingers around the polished brass until his knuckles turned white. "But you do."

Tom looked away. "That's ridiculous. When is this going to end, hmm? I'm only trying to protect you from the delusions you seem to have of this world, Harry; he's not our sort."

Harry leaned over the railing, giving off a short, hysterical laugh before continuing up the steps. "So, I'm delusional now," he said loudly, and slammed the door to his bedroom.

Turning to the fireplace at the opposite side of the room, Tom pointed his wand at the neat pile of logs resting on the hearth and levitated them onto the andirons before setting them ablaze. "It's bloody cold in here," he murmured to himself, feeling the warmth in the elegant reception room siphon away with a cool breeze steadily rising in the air.

* * *

The commotion on the ground floor mingled with loud music resonating through the walls. Harry sat beside his mother while she knitted booties, clicking the soles of his wing-tip shoes on the iron footboard of her bed. He felt completely out of place, sitting there in a chocolate-brown wool suit that his brother had insisted he wear. His shaggy hair had been neatly combed with thick grease to keep a semblance of the whole _'we're better than you are'_ thing going for Tom's benefit. He looked like Tom, a little miniature Tom waiting for his call to make an appearance. He was itchy and bored, but could not find it in his heart to leave his mother sitting alone.

Merope was not allowed downstairs. She was being punished for being… well, simply for being Merope. Her smile showed no hurt, though. She hugged Harry around the shoulders, leaving a half knitted bib in her lap, astonished that any sort of gooey substance could tame his hair. "You've always had the most unmanageable and beautiful locks. They're like mine, see? We've got such stubborn curls."

Harry knew her curls were something she had recently acquired from a witch's salon on Diagon Alley, but he wasn't going to say anything to spoil her uppity mood. She had come to adore the great, purple Knight Bus and its easy travel. Tom had not wanted anyone to see Merope leaving or entering their home, though, and this has pissed Harry off like nothing other. Tom treated their mother like a piece of property. He was wrong and stupid, and would be very sorry that he had missed out on the joy of spending time with such a woman once he grew out of this adolescent grudge he seemed to hold.

"All dressed up and nowhere to go," Harry chimed, grinning with embarrassment. He would have sat there all night with her and her growing pile of knitted baby clothes. He loved his mother that much.

"Go downstairs, Harry," Merope urged. "I'm betting there are a few lovely ladies down there that have their eye on you."

Harry shook his head. "Showing me attention is just a way to get to Tom, mum. All the girls fancy him something terrible. Besides, it got kind of hushed down there, didn't it?" The voices once filling the house had stilled, giving Harry the impression that everyone had gone home. "I'd rather stay up here with you."

"You're a very handsome boy. You've got more class in your little finger than Tom has running through his whole body," Merope whispered, patting his hand. "Now, go downstairs and show yourself off. You're wasting this lovely suit on me. I insist – go!"

It was Christmas Eve and Harry was in his mother's arms. "Mummy?"

"What is it, darling?" she asked him, dropping her chin on his shoulder.

Harry tipped his head back and gazed at her out of the corner of his eye. "You know there's no other girl like you, right?"

She chuckled softly, tickling Harry's ear. "Oh, yes, I know."

* * *

The overhead chandelier in the reception room had been dimmed. Harry squinted as he descended the steps of the spiral staircase, fearing that he might be walking into some sort of situation he would not want to see. There were couples strewn around all over the furniture. In the pit of his stomach, Harry knew that if he looked hard enough, he'd see that thing he dreaded so.

Sure enough, across the room, lying over some drunken bint with her legs spread and ankles draped over his calves, Tom was in mid-snogging session. The girl's arms were around his neck, hung limp despite her clasped fingers. Her skirt was up to her hips. Harry felt a sensation of something powerful soar through his veins, right to the tips of his fingers. The heat of his skin burned under his woollen clothes.

The music playing was a slow, sappy ballad, egging on the stimulating movement of each couple's actions. Harry hardly heard the stumbling, pissed-drunk footsteps of someone sneaking up on him. He was far too gone in his jealous mind to hear it or care.

"Oh my stars, it's the littler Gaunt making his grand entrance!"

Harry's eyes rolled back into his head for a second, hearing that raspy drone of the person he hated most in the world. He turned around, sneering. "Get fucked, Armon." He had half a mind to march right back upstairs and pack his and his mother's belongings and leave this house forever. His fists were balled up tight, ready to hit anything that touched him.

"Get over yourself, Harry," Dolohov said in a slow drawl. "I came to offer a truce."

Harry turned back to the stairs and made it up three of them before being dragged back down by two large hands. "Nah, nah, don't run off now. C'mon, have a drink with me and let's bury the hatchet."

Holding a reluctant Harry by the wrist, Dolohov pulled him along through the dark room until his fingers clamped around the neck of a bottle of fire whiskey. "This'll do," he whispered, and he and Harry stepped over Walburga and Cygnus lying tangled on the floor.

"I don't think I'm allowed to drink that," Harry mumbled, feeling a bit sheepish about sharing a bottle with the bastard. He turned back, looking for the couch again in the darkness. "Who's that with Tom?"

"Where's your room?"

"It's upstairs," Harry said absently.

"Let's go up."

"I just got down here. Is everyone with someone?" Harry wanted nothing more than to show up his brother and snog some other girl's face off right in front of him. Tom had no idea how much it hurt to see him doing this, up close and personal, in the home they shared. Harry knew he was doing it was for the greater good, as Tom would say, to get as many witches and wizards to help him out with his research on any ancient spells he could find; many of these purebloods had vast libraries in their manor homes and at their disposal. And many of these libraries contained shelves of books of dark magic banned from all use. Still…

"Look, I'm sorry about that joke I played on your giant friend. He's all right, isn't he?" Armon asked Harry, shaking him from his thoughts. He gave him a tug closer to the staircase. "Upstairs, you said?"

Harry pointed up to the other spiral staircase above the one they ascended. "Yeah, up there, second floor."

Merope's bedroom door was shut. Tom's bedroom door was open, and there were two people humping on his bed. Harry cringed as he passed. Working his way up to the second floor, he jerked his head to the door on the right. Grasping the knob, he looked over his shoulder, trying to figure the other boy out. Harry had his wand on him, and that's all that mattered. If the sneak tried anything fishy, he'd be very, very sorry. "Come on, then," he whispered.

Dolohov snickered. "This it?" He stared listlessly around the room for a moment, before centring on the bed. There were Quidditch pendants of all different colours clinging to the walls. It was small and modestly decorated in rusts and browns, looking very much like a teenaged boy's room to him. He moved toward the bed sluggishly, and dropped down on his back before taking a healthy swig from the bottle. "Here," he said, holding it out to Harry. "Sit, drink."

"Yeah, give it," Harry blurted, and grabbed the bottle. He gulped down a large amount of whiskey, enough to make him cough while his eyes watered up behind his glasses. He pulled them off and set them on the night table.

Armon laughed. "Good stuff, eh?"

Harry wiped the tears away and nodded. It wasn't as bad as he thought it could be, and its effects were immediate. He sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Dolohov, giggling. "You're really sorry for hexing Hagrid, then?"

"Of course I'm not," he replied smugly. "I just wanted to get you up here."

"And why did you want to get me up here?" Harry asked him through his returning sneer. His hand was on his wand, ready for anything… or so he thought.

Dolohov began picking at a scab on his arm. Harry watched him, never seeing him look so vulnerable before. He was mildly attractive in the face, with long, gangly legs and a compact, stocky torso. He had strawberry-blond hair and deep blue eyes, and an amount of freckles on his nose that made him look a lot less dangerous than he was. And at that moment, he looked as though he might burst into tears if he were forced to reveal this terrible secret he was holding inside.

Swallowing more fire whiskey than he should, Harry waited patiently for this awkward moment to pass.

Armon refused to look up at him, but finally spoke. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Isn't _what_ obvious?" Harry asked him.

"Like I… little bit… you know… fancy you."

Harry didn't act openly surprised, but he was. Dolohov was a queer, too. "That so?"

"Yeah, I s'pose. Don't know why I'm telling you, though," Armon replied.

"That why you pick on me?"

And then it hit him like a brick to the face; Harry smiled with cheek and inebriation as his mind wrapped around and burned the image of Tom on top of another girl. He knew what he had to do. If it worked for Tom, it would work for him.

Harry clutched the bottle between his thighs to loosen his tie. "Maybe you're telling me because you wanna kiss me?" he asked him softly, moving his eyes slowly upward, until they reached Dolohov's. _God, what a chump. It couldn't be this easy…_

He looked like a glimmer of hope had sparked behind Armon's deep blues. "Maybe."

"Then kiss me," Harry said bluntly. Armon pounced.

He was in Dolohov's arms, dropped back on the mattress before he could even think. The bottle hit the floor with a splash of liquid spewing out, and rolled away.

Their lips were crushed together, teeth clacked loudly, and heavy groaning purred from their throats. "Look, Harry," Dolohov said harshly, finding little breath. "You can't tell anyone…" He kissed him harder, letting himself go. Harry was so unbelievably willing to give him this shot. "Gods, you're so pretty. Gods, Harry… you can't tell anyone about this."

Pulling his legs up and rolling his hips once or twice for a bit of friction, Harry found himself actually enjoying this sort of learned manipulation. Maybe Tom had it right after all. "I'm not that thick," he hissed through his teeth, while twining his fingers through the short, wiry hair to bring Dolohov's lips back to his own. Newly grown stubble scraped at his skin.

The older boy's hands ran under his jacket, up and down his sides. His thumbs traced over every protruding rib until they reached the hardened peaks of his nipples. "I said kiss," Harry snapped, and moved his hands away.

The music from the ground floor had picked up in pace. Voices on the lower levels bounded through the room.

Dolohov was over Harry, straddling his hips and fondling every part of his upper body without care. The buttons of his jacket were ripped away from the threads. Harry could feel the hard press of an erection jutting against him. It was going too far, and needed to end before Tom walked up the steps and opened his door. He didn't fancy this boy at all; he hated him with every part of his being, but Hagrid's life in Hogwarts was about to get a lot bloody easier. "Geroff," Harry said, giving the boy a simple push to his shoulder. "I'm done."

"That it?" Dolohov ran his fingers through his hair and kept his eyes cast downward.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "You should go."

"I didn't mean to get…" Armon stood up, blushing. "Did I go too… Was this a mistake?"

"That depends on you," Harry stated matter-of-factly.

"You can't tell anyone, all—"

"You've said that already!" Harry growled at him. He had him, had him good and hard by the balls. The poor lad was trembling in his wake. Harry messed with his tie a bit more, adjusting it back into proper position. He wouldn't let the other boy see the smile threatening to surface on his lips. "If you don't want anyone to know, I suggest you leave Hagrid alone from now on."

Dolohov gave him a nod. "You swear you won't tell anyone? My father would… He's very opposed to this sort of thing."

Harry looked up from his clothes, sighing. There were three buttons missing off of his jacket. "Yeah, I can keep your little secret, but you got to lay off Hagrid. Alright?"

"Yeah," he replied.

* * *

After pushing himself as far as he could on the kindness scale, Tom yawned through his good-byes to the others as they filed toward the front door. The hour was late, and his disappointment over Harry's decision to remain hidden clawed at his psyche. He swiped at the lipstick marks on his lips, tasting the resin of beeswax on the tip of his tongue. Lucretia's blossomed scent lingered on his clothing. She was a slattern, yes; but she was a rich-as-all-get-out slattern. The goal had been accomplished, to an extent. His lovely little Death Eaters were more than completely smitten with him now.

"G'night, Tom."

Tom turned around. Dolohov had appeared from nowhere to sneak past with his mumbling words and no excuses. "Where did you come from?" he asked him, eyeing his rumpled suit.

"Oh, was using the loo," was all he said in return. He slapped the taller boy on the arm before jamming his hand into his pockets. "Big day tomorrow, yeah? Well, Happy Christmas."

It was a lie, of course. Tom had a very keen ability for detecting even the slightest inflexion or stammer in any word spoken by only looking into ones eyes. He smiled mockingly as the other boy slipped out into the night, and closed and locked the door behind him. He would deal with him later. It was not wise to punish someone without knowing why he had openly lied to his face.

Harry was sitting on the steps, his bare legs dangling over the side through the railing spindles. "Everyone's gone home?"

"Yeah," Tom said. "Hey, was Dolohov bothering you?" A feeling of woe settled in his stomach, watching Harry fidget around to avoid his gaze.

Harry pulled his legs in to hug them. "I wouldn't call it bothering. I got what I wanted." He felt Tom close in on him, take his hand, and help him stand. He tugged on the hem of his undershirt as he followed his brother up the stairs. He was a little worried he might take it the wrong way. "I don't mean 'got', I mean, well… he won't be hexing Hagrid in the halls anymore. I got something on him to make him stop all that nonsense."

Walking into Tom's room, Harry closed the door and put his back to it. Tom was huffing and hawing about the state of his bedding. "He was in my room," Harry admitted.

Tom remained fixed on his bedding. "I'll have to wash these."

"…on my bed. He kissed me."

"Why would you tell me that, Harry?" Tom asked him coldly, still fiddling around with the sheets.

A jolt of pain hit Harry, nearly cracking his head in two. He pressed his hand to his scar, biting back a yelp. "Stop it," he warned him. The pain immediately ceased. He looked up at Tom with a scowl. "Why do you do that? It's cruel."

Tom was flushed with anger. "Why did you let him kiss you?"

"Why not? I saw you… I saw you snogging Lucretia downstairs. Armon promised not to hex Hagrid anymore if I kept this secret. It's nothing you wouldn't do, so you've got no right to ask me anything."

Tom's eyes snapped open. Harry was standing there in front of him, wearing nothing more than his skivvies, trying to explain to him that he had just taken his first steps to becoming something he wasn't. He was changing, slowly turning into Tom. "Are you telling me that you let Armon kiss you, so, in turn, you effectively blackmailed him with it so he'll lay off Hagrid?"

Harry nodded. "Exactly."

"No more," he said quickly.

"Oh?"

"Don't do that."

Harry smirked. "Says who – you? It's what you do."

Tom seethed inside. _Arrogant idiot!_ "I kissed her for _maybe_ a minute. I've already told you why." He moved closer to Harry, waiting on some kind of cocky retort. His hands were clawed against his thighs. He moved them to the buckle of his belt, unlatching it. "What you did was nothing short of sinister. You're not that way."

Seeing him undressing, throwing clothes on the floor as he inched closer gave Harry a crippling shiver. Tom was obsessively neat about everything. This worried him a bit. "What are you doing?" he asked, reaching for the door knob behind him.

"Get your hand off that," Tom growled, slapping Harry's hand away. He pressed himself into Harry, hard, pinning him to the door. "Where do you think you're going?"

Far too angry to take pleasure in the feel of Tom's body crushed against him, Harry made a little annoyed sound in his throat while he turned his head to the side. "Bugger off,"

Slipping a knuckle under Harry's chin, Tom tilted his face up toward him. Harry's eyes were everywhere except on him. "Look at me," he whispered firmly, giving his chin a rough nudge upward. "I said fucking look at me, Harry, now."

Harry's bright green irises centred and narrowed. His lips were pursed tight. "What?" he stung back, clenching up every muscle in his body.

Tom slid one hand behind the nape of Harry's neck, the other on the small of his back. He gripped a slick handful of hair, forcing the boy's head back, and dipped his tongue between his parted lips. Harry seized up, breathless, helpless.

A telling, exasperated groan vibrated against Tom's mouth, and Harry's proffered hands were thrust back against the door. "You're mine," Tom hissed venomously. "No one touches you." He ran his tongue up the length of Harry's throat, pulled his glasses off and tossed them behind him. They clattered along the floor. He kissed the line of his jaw. "No one touches you but me."

Unshed tears glistened in Harry's eyes. "And how do you think I feel?" He was stiff against the door, gnashing his teeth. Little whimpering sounds were lodged in his throat. He craned his neck, letting the tears slip down his cheeks. "I saw your hand in her knickers. It hurt so badly."

"Gods, I'm sorry," Tom said softly, and he meant it. He pulled Harry away from the door, pivoting them around and dropped them both onto the bed. Harry rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands briskly. He heaved a deep, relieved breath and threw his arms around Tom's neck. They tore at each other's undershirts, pulling them off over their heads.

Tom canted his hips into Harry's with a silky moan. "I never thought of it that way. Love you," he rasped, losing his breath. He wriggled a hand between them. "I'll never do it again."

Harry mewled in restless response, feeling Tom's fingers rubbing over the cotton material of his drawers, tormenting his inexorable arousal. "I'm holding you to that."

Tom's heavy breathing cascaded across Harry's cheek. "Take these off, baby. Let me touch you all over."

"All right," Harry said blindly. He slipped them over his hips, and felt the cold realisation of his actions. He had never taken his pants off before while intimate with Tom. Too late to stop, he kicked them away and fell back into the bedding, letting Tom recapture his lips. The soft pads of fingers pulled lovingly along the length of his cock, while a tongue and teeth toyed with his bottom lip. There were no words Harry could properly form to describe how divine everything felt, and how strangely comfortable he was under Tom's ministrations. He did not want this to stop.

"Does that feel good? You're so quiet."

"Mhmm," Harry hummed frantically. His eyes were screwed shut, and his arms tightened around Tom's shoulders. He rolled his hips in rhythm with each stroke, faster and harder. Suddenly, he buried his face in Tom's neck, arching his back as he came all over his hand. He wanted to stay that way forever. His wheezing exhales tickled Tom's ear. It was perfect. It was perfectly perfect, and he could think of nothing else that giving back the pleasure he was just given.

Slowly, uncertainly, Harry's hand moved along Tom's side. "You going to take yours off?" he whispered shakily, still buried in his warm neck. It was scary and exciting to think of what they had done, the barrier they had crossed after months of finding their niche on how to please the other.

"Yeah, if you want me to," Tom whispered back, wishing he had silenced the room. He never imagined in a million years that his mother would have wanted to bunk directly across from his room, and not Harry's. Anticipation crept hurriedly into his every nerve, in wait for his answer. Gods, yes, he wanted Harry to touch him.

Harry nodded in the crook of his neck, and placed a kiss on his collarbone. "Yeah, I do."

Shivering with delight, Tom shimmied out of his pants as quickly as possible. On this cold night, they pressed their bodies together while Tom enticed the smaller boy to come out from hiding by kissing his forehead as many times as it took. Eventually, Harry tipped his head back as his slender fingers wrapped gingerly around Tom's cock.

There were countless times Tom could recall in the back of his mind where he was in this position. With expert hands that knew all the right spots to tug and scrape and stroke, but nothing matched the feel of Harry's awkward motions. He wanted so badly to make it right, to truly please him in any way he could.

Feeling Harry's almost translucent skin warm against him, inhaling the scent of his tamed hair, and tasting the residue of come on the tips of his fingers, sent Tom into euphoric bliss. Harry's sweet hand slipped and stroked him fully hard; his other arm still wrapped tightly around his neck. Their legs entwined to create a better pace anchoring them to each other.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked him so innocently, staring at him with owlish fascination.

"Christ, don't stop, don't stop," Tom panted. He reached down, clamping his hand over Harry's. He took him by the hair, entranced with his eyes. "You're fucking beautiful, baby… fucking perfect." Never had anything as exquisite graced him. And this was his.

Bringing tears to Harry's brilliant eyes had cut out his heart. He would never fuck that up again.

A cry tore through Tom's lips as his body convulsed and shook. He came hard, spilling his seed between them. Harry immediately cupped a hand over his mouth, shushing him. They both looked to the door, huffing and panting for breath, praying they had not woken Merope. Tom fell back, honestly caring less anymore. He pulled Harry closer, hugging him into his side. Sleep was inevitable. "Do you forgive me, Harry?"

"Course," Harry whispered.

"I'm gonna fucking murder Dolohov, you know."

Harry shook his head, swaying it over Tom's bare chest. "No more murder, alright?"

Tom scoffed. "I'm going to hurt him at the very least. He's going to suffer."

He wanted to care, but he honestly didn't. Harry closed his eyes, exhausted beyond all reasoning. "Just as long as you don't get into any trouble, Tom. Good night."

"Right, promise," Tom replied, stifling a grin. "Night, Harry."

* * *


	10. Devil's Advocate

Chapter 10

Devil's Advocate

"…and the shocking news of the mysterious death of the famed alchemist has wreaked havoc on the Wizarding World. The Ministry of Magic refused comment about anything pertaining to the whereabouts of the only know philosopher's stone in existence, simply named 'The Philosopher's Stone'. What in Morgan's name is a philosopher's stone, Hagrid?" Harry set the morning copy of the Daily Prophet down and folded his arms on the dining table.

Hagrid shrugged his great shoulders. "Yeh got me, Harry. I never even heard'a Nicolas Flamel."

"Well, I have," Harry whispered cautiously, glancing weary-eyed at the Slytherin table. Tom was noticeably missing from his usual seat. "I heard a few Death Eaters mention his name during Tom's birthday celebration."

With a cringe, Hagrid shushed the small boy before anyone picked up on their conversation. Several surrounding Gryffindors were already giving the two friends oddly-glancing looks, making them both somewhat uncomfortable as it was. "Don' call them tha', Harry! I reckon if they find out it were you that let tha' slip, they'd be back ter givin' us trouble."

"I know… but I'm sure Tom's involved somehow. I'm not saying he's done anything, Hagrid, it's just… he's just been acting so strange lately – What in the hell are you looking at, Ogden?" Harry was suddenly glaring across the table at a stocky, wiry-haired boy. "Mind your sodding business."

Tiberius Ogden, the boy who had replaced Minerva as Gryffindor Seeker, scoffed and nudged Dorcas Meadowes' shoulder. An avid hunter and fame-seeker, Tiberius only kept with the best and brightest of Hogwarts. He had half of McGonagall's talent and none of her class, and he drooled at a chance to be a part of Tom's elite. "Or what, Gaunt? You'll get your brother's drones after me, too? Why don't you go back to your own kind, eh?"

"My own kind?" Harry asked him. "What exactly is _my kind_?"

"Now look here, Tiberius!" Hagrid howled, raising a pointed finger at him. "Harry's a good lad, so yeh know! He's got every righ' ter sit here."

"My God, man, _you_ hardly have any right to sit here, let alone Mr-Perfect-Head-Boy's little runt of a brother," Ogden spat. Dorcas giggled under her hand. Both seventh year Gryffindors turned their noses up at the half-giant and his mischievous friend. "Go suck on some flobberworms!"

"Lick streeler venom!" Harry shot back. The runt jab had hit him hard. He had grown quite a bit over his time at Hogwarts, and felt the nickname was completely uncalled for. Being in constant company of Hagrid or Tom would make anyone look a lot smaller than they truly were.

"Oh, I know," Dorcas injected, pointing a skeletal finger at the end of the Hufflepuff table. "You two could go sit with the other Slytherin cast-offs, like Dolohov over there. I'm sure he wouldn't mind a bit of company."

Following her direction, Hagrid and Harry spotted the poor boy sitting next to Grugwyn Rufford, looking pathetically sad while learning the art of playing a proper game of Gobstones. Armon's face was covered in gooey liquid of all colours that leaked into the collar of his robes. Harry thought he might rather visit Aragog in the Forbidden Forest on a daily basis rather than be forced into playing the boring, disgusting game.

"No thanks," Hagrid mumbled quietly, clearly sharing his sentiment.

Harry turned to Hagrid, taken aback by how incredibly trifling the banter had ended, and that he had been caught up in it enough to hurl insults. There were much more important things brewing in their lives. He snapped his fingers in front of Hagrid's face to garner his attention, dispensing the vicious snarl on the larger boy's visage. "Anyway, what I think we should do is find a way to get into the Restricted Section and read up more about this stone and what it's used for. I'm guessing…"

"He thinks he's so smart sitting there reading his post and wishing he were as wonderful as his brother," Dorcas added loudly, breaking Harry's concentration.

Rolling his eyes, Harry's head snapped back toward the two idiots. "Shouldn't you be studying really, really hard for your N.E.W.T's right now and not worrying about what I'm saying, Meadowes? Merlin knows you need all the help you can get, you daft idiot."

The bony girl with thick glasses gasped and threw a hand up to cover her reddening neck.

It was Hagrid's turn to giggle gleefully. His large frame jiggled the Gryffindor dining table with each joyous chortle.

Harry jammed his copy of the Daily Prophet under his arm and stood up, still scowling at the two. "Let's go find some place where we won't be interrupted by all these fearless little primates trying to impress each other, Hagrid."

Ogden gave the boys a two-finger salute as they walked off, and shook his head in abhorrence.

The instant they made their way to the Great Hall, Myrtle and Mina gave ample chase. They had been watching the two boys with intent throughout dinner, and in their hands were gifts in wait of their new owners. "Harry, Harry, oh, Harry!" Mina bellowed in a chirpy voice, "You too, Hagrid – wait up!"

"Ooh, Harry, stop!" Hagrid whispered, and tugged on his robes to straighten them out. He ran his fingers through his bushy hair, giving his friend a wink before they turned around. "Hullo, Bulstrode! You look might' lovely today," he returned enthusiastically, giving the hefty girl a bright grin.

Mina blushed pink. Myrtle was already sporting a set of flushed cheeks as she slowly approached Harry. "G-got this for you," she garbled, handing the boy a cello-wrapped parcel. "Happy Christmas, Harry."

Harry gaped at the squat girl, unsure of what to say. He looked down at the box in his hands, giving it a tiny shake. "What's this?" he asked her, feeling the innards shimming around like sand.

Shoving her gift into Hagrid's hand, Mina simply beamed at him. "We spent all Boxing Day making biscuits for you."

Finding the exchange a bit more than irritating, Harry was in mid thought of how to ditch these two harpies when his eye caught a glint of light beaming off of Myrtle's blue Prefect badge. "Prefect," he breathed. His eyes lit up. "Myrtle, you could get into the Restricted Section if you needed to, right?"

"I suppose," she said, shrugging. "I could ask Professor Merrythought for a pass. I've been neglecting my studies on cursed objects and their effects on—_Ooh!_"

Harry seized her arm and dragged her along with him. "She might still be in her classroom, c'mon!"

* * *

Tom paced along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He was anxious, and for good reason. If anyone was on to him, if anyone found him or tried to search him, they would take their last breath. He looked down at his watch before dropping his arm as if it weighed a million stone. He had no patience for waiting. Apprehension and jubilation raced through his body. He had done the wicked deed for him, for the man who he would grow into with time. He had massacred and purloined for Lord Voldemort. 

He could not recall their last meeting. It had been years back and wiped cleanly from his thoughts. He understood the importance of that now. He was a man now, come of age and maturity and could see the future with open eyes. It was time for change. His old life was caving in. Lie upon lie plagued him day and night. His life was false. He was a plaything for his future self, an experiment of epic proportion. His mother was not meant to survive, and Harry was not…

Only weeks before, waking up to Merope sneaking into his room with the firm and maddened belief that Tom was actually his father, Mr Riddle, he had taken it upon himself to return her to St Mungo's. It was then when his lows got lower, crashing and burning like a decrepit building when he received the worst possible news: Harry could not possibly be his blood brother.

He had only wanted to be sure that Merope was not pregnant. She insisted that she was, and Harry was so supportive of her. It ripped and shredded Tom's insides with such pain. Harry… who the hell was he? "God, Harry…"

"I wouldn't dwell too far into that." A voice inside the forest echoed out through the trees. "We've been over this already. Harry's no less your brother than before you found out, and his blood does run hot through your veins."

Tom steeled himself in wait for Draco's appearance. He shoved his hand in his pocket, touching the thing he had stolen. "Where's Voldemort?"

Draco stepped into view, grinning. His impish features danced with elation. "He couldn't make it. He sends his apologies. Do you have it?" He held out a hand in wait for his prize, eager to wrap his fingers around his own future.

Fishing it out, Tom held the Philosopher's Stone up to the light of the sun. Like a great ruby, it glittered like nothing other, and took their breath clear away.

Moving toward him, Draco snatched it up. "Such a good boy," he whispered, mesmerised by the stone's raw beauty. "You have yet to fail us. Well, except for that one very important thing you just can't seem to get into your thick skull…"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Which is?"

Draco huffed in annoyance. "Harry. You still don't get it, do you?"

"We're fine, thanks," Tom returned, making a little noise in his throat. "Never better."

With laughter running thick with sarcasm, Draco stuffed the rock into his robes to stop himself from slapping some sense into the boy. "Sure, fine and dandy, and yes he's still less of a Slytherin than the great rebel himself, Godric Gryffindor. How is that possible, Tom? How do you lead mere recruits into murdering for you, but you can't keep one little boy who loves you with all of his soul on a solid leash? He's already figured out that you have something to do with this stone. It's only a matter of time before Dumbledore picks up on it."

Inclining his head, Tom cleared his throat nervously. He was taken aback. "Harry knows?"

Draco nodded. "And he's got someone helping him. Someone who would love nothing more than to split the two of you apart."

"That's absurd," Tom reasoned. "That would never happen."

"Wouldn't it? You need to show him who's in charge before he wakes up and smells the roses. You're not a good guy, Tommy. You're about as bad as they come. He's not like you… not yet. What do you think will happen when he finds out you've murdered again? And trust me, he will find out."

Tom held up a rigid finger and pursed his lips. "No, I haven't murdered anyone since my father."

"Course not. Killing a man and his wife to take possession of their immortality rock isn't really murder, is it?"

"I didn't do it," he replied calmly.

"You ordered your Death Eaters to. That's still murder, Tom."

Tom looked away, averting his eyes. Yes, he had ordered their deaths. No one was supposed to know who had taken the stone. It was that important. "Harry will never find out."

"Are you going to keep him in the dark about everything? What about the news you got from St. Mungo's, Tom? That your mother birthed only one child and couldn't possibly get pregnant again? What do you think will happen when Harry's little brain wraps around the fact that you kidnapped him and forced him to grow up in squalor? You allowed his beatings and neglect to carry on, making him stronger. You murdered his real mummy and daddy; wealthy, happy people who loved him."

"_He_ did that—I didn't!"

"He and you are one, Tom. Will that matter to Harry whether you did it now or later? You still did it."

A small tree exploded behind them. Tom growled in his throat.

Draco chortled. "That's right, get angry. Know now that it was you who did all of this to him and yourself. You've known for a month that he wasn't your brother. How does that feel?"

"I thought it was a mistake," he whispered. "They made a mistake... somehow. He can't be…"

Draco scoffed. "Certified Healers attest to the facts, Tom. They aren't Muggles. I delivered Harry right into your mummy's arms on your direct orders."

Tom shook his head. "He's more like me than anyone else."

"Of course he is; he's holding part of your soul inside of him."

It was in his eyes. Draco spoke the truth. Tom felt like crying. "I wouldn't do that. I'm not so cold."

Draco put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "There was a good reason for it. You've got to stop this separation between the two of you. Harry is a very important part of the Trinity that you created. Without him on our side, the others inch closer to snatching him up. The longer you divide it, the farther he slips away."

Tom blinked. "Trinity? Who's the third?"

"Me, of course," Draco boasted. "Who else? Harry and I live to serve you, my Lord. "

That did not make Tom feel any better. "I see. And we are against the others, right?"

Draco held up a hand to stop him. "You're fishing, Tom. Don't try to understand it, yet. Your job is to get Harry to recognise you as the only person in the world he can fully trust. If Gellert Grindelwald gets his hands on Harry – or worse, Albus Dumbledore; Harry will become a weapon to be used against you. I suspect that Dumbledore's already watching the two of you. It's only a matter of time before Grindelwald gets wind of your growing power."

"You seem to know everything, but you can't predict how this will turn out. Why is that?"

Looking at the ground, Draco kicked a small twig in frustration. "You're too goddamn intelligent for your own well being. I've already said too much. I don't need you diving into Dumbledore's business. That will not be your concern for a long, long time. Your directive right now is Harry, and only Harry. Got it?

"I want you to think of him as something more than just a boy Wizard you've kept company with. He is a possession, a priceless possession that belongs only to you. He is to be kept at your side at all times so that no one else can touch or taint him in any way. He is fiercely loyal to whatever he believes in. Make him believe in you."

"You want me to think of him as I would a pet?"

Draco snorted uncouthly under his hand. "Oh, he would love to hear that one. No, not as a pet; he truly is a part of you. His blood runs through you, your soul lives inside of him. You and he are one."

Tom blushed pink. "Is that why we're… is it why… we're attracted… I mean…"

Draco's eyes lit up. Tom was beginning to see now. "Yes, that's exactly why. It is why Harry can talk to snakes and you can imagine no other at your side. Think of it as a wondrous side effect."

"I do love him, Draco. I really do."

"I know, Tom. And I hope to Merlin he's worth putting your heart and soul into recapturing. Do what you have to do to accomplish this; force him, break him down and build him back up. You'll know when the change begins. Harry is so unlike this naïve child we see now. His attraction to you knows no bounds. He's in the Restricted Section as we speak, and is about to fall into one of the greatest traps of all time. It should be quite familiar to you; it was how you were conceived. Get in there and stop that bloody Muggleborn girl from taking what is rightfully yours."

"Right," Tom said, pulling his wand free from his trousers. "When will I see you again?"

Draco winked at him, looking over his shoulder at the boy as he stepped into the forest. "We will be back very soon. There's something else we need to do."

* * *

Myrtle. Moaning, moping, pathetic Myrtle. 

Tom gazed upon the girl hidden behind the second shelf of the Restricted Section. She sat across from Harry; legs bent and parted, with a hand twisting up the material of her skirt to show off the crotch of her knickers. At first glance, it could have been innocent. They looked bookish in their school uniforms and thick glasses, Harry's awkwardly long legs splayed out to hold the volume he was reading over. His finger moved along the passages as he read aloud to her, and her eyes followed his actions as if he were the only thing ever worth watching. The tainted parcel sat in wait for Harry. Tom could smell the familiar stench of Amortentia wafting from it.

It was obvious; she wanted him in the worst way. She was no better than Merope. The blood in Tom's veins thickened and blackened.

Curling a hand around the end of the shelf, Tom pulled himself inward to show his face to them. "What are you doing?" he asked, fixed on Myrtle. "Did you let him in here?"

Clapping the book shut, Harry dropped it beside him and forced a smile. "We weren't doing anything wrong," he said weakly. _He lies._ "She was helping me with some research, that's all."

"I…" Myrtle's eyes shifted between Tom and Harry, and the box. She stood up quickly and adjusted her skirt. "I was just going."

"Good," Tom said. "Get the fuck out of here before I report you."

Harry bit his lip, forcing himself not to retort. As much as he hated seeing Tom act like he was superior to Muggleborn students and anyone else who did not fit well enough into his criterion, he was glad that his brother was shooing the annoying wailer off. She had done nothing but whine the entire time, making his enlightenment of the Philosopher's Stone a difficult task indeed. "See you around, Myrtle," he said, cringing.

Tom moved in the instant the gates clanked together, kicking the box of biscuits beside Harry as hard as he could. It hit a shelf and burst open, sending chocolate crumbs scattering everywhere.

There was something in his eyes, a pool of water as deep as the ocean that took Harry's breath as he crouched down in front of him. "They were poisoned," the older boy whispered pointedly, flicking his eyes back at the mangled lump on the floor. His hands rested limply over his knees and his fringe fell into his face. He smiled so softly, so confidently at Harry. "Love potion. She was going to seduce you."

"You don't say…" Harry murmured, staring blankly at it. He gasped and tried to stand, realising suddenly that Hagrid had received an exact replica of his box. "I have to—" Before he could move more than an inch, or emit another word, Tom's eyes darkened, his hands darted out, and he took Harry by the arms to force him back down. Harry winced. "Tom, what are you doing?"

"I just want to know something," Tom said harshly, "Are you really this fucking stupid?"

Worming his way in between his thighs to thoroughly hold him down, Tom cupped his hand over the boy's face to place his lips to his throat. "Stop it," Harry whispered in a shaky voice. His robes were torn open, his trousers unzipped. There were hands everywhere, it seemed; rigid, long fingers pushing and pulling him in all directions. "Aren't you listening to me? God—" His lips were smothered in a kiss, his hands positioned behind his back. The capricious act was so forceful, something Tom had never done to him before.

Hands tightened, seized. Tom yanked him up and shoved him back against the shelf. "What were you doing?"

Molten blood soared hot through Harry's veins, scorching all sense of right and wrong. He shook his head in curt sweeps, shaken by Tom's unjust finger pointing. He did not think Tom would kill again. He did not kill Nicolas Flamel. "Nothing. I was only looking up the properties of the Philosopher's Stone, I swear…" And no matter how much he pleaded or rationed out as to why, Tom's gaze of contempt never wavered.

"She would do anything to get you to notice her. She is a Mudblooded-whore, a filthy slut, and all she wants from you is _everything_ that you've promised me."

Harry froze. "Wait… are you talking about Myrtle? I thought this was about Nicolas Flamel."

"What in the fuck are you on about? Yes, Myrtle! She's trying to get into your fucking pants!"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Don't be ridiculous. I didn't do anything with her…"

"Shut up."

He knew now what it must have felt like to be one of the ousted elite. The dangerous mask had slipped from Tom's visage. Never before had his brother looked upon him in this way. _Hatred. Pure, seething hatred_. Clouded eyes, blinded from seeing anything other than Myrtle.

Harry's breath caught. His eyes widened in realisation, and he blanched stark-white. _This has nothing to do with the stone. _Tom was going to hurt him for being alone with Myrtle.

The lights overhead were doused. He looked up, gasping with surprise. Electric pulses of magic rippled over his skin. Trousers were pulled off and kicked aside. He protested, feeling strangled and alone. His voice squeaked with sharp pain resonating through his forehead. Tom's eyes almost glimmered through the darkness. "Shut up! No one can hear you," he hissed, and Harry tore away.

Tom struggled to capture the floor-scratching, scrambling limbs before Harry's escape took effect. The boy was trembling and inconsolable. _Grunting and gasping for oxygen. Kicking, crying, and thrashing about – _Pinning his brother to the floor roughly, hands thrust over his head, clenched hard, and gagging his raucous mouth with the ball of his hand, Tom bested Harry. "I'm not going to hurt you. Have I ever—goddamnit, Harry, stop struggling!"

Teeth bit deeply into his palm, burning the skin. Tom ignored the pain and the helpless, choked cries, focusing on calming the terrified boy instead. Whatever it took; suffocating him into near unconsciousness, waiting this out until Harry collapsed from exhaustion – Tom would do whatever it took, because he was not going to let him get away.

_No…_

_I'm not Morfin. I'm not going to hurt him_.

_He needs to see that only I exist._

A kiss and a hair petting later, Tom's angry guise softened like milk. "Harry, relax. I didn't mean to frighten you. I just get a little barmy sometimes when I think of others trying to touch you."

Not fully convinced, Harry watched him as he would watch Morfin in days past. Those untrusting bottle-green eyes were fixed on every twitch of Tom's facial expressions.

Draco was wicked, but he had been right; Harry needed Tom and only Tom. He had to know who was boss.

"I didn't mean to imply that you didn't trust me. I know you trust me, and I trust you. Listen to me, baby." The fully-tensed muscles in the body beneath him slackened a single notch. Harry blinked in confusion as Tom pulled his hand away from his mouth. Luminous green eyes that softened and looked for reassurance warmed his blood. Clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders and jaw, Tom had finally gotten his attention. "I don't want you around _her_ anymore. I don't like it. You're too fucking gullible to be in her company."

Bruised lips parted, bloodied teeth clacked. "Okay," Harry breathed. "I didn't do anything."

"I know."

Tom's lips, his tongue, the teeth that nipped and tickled around his neck. Determined hands slipped his down into his breeches, nails dug hard into his hips.

"I love you, Tom."

"I know, Harry. _Shh…_"

Pushed up against the shelf, the old wood dug into Harry's back. Splinters tore at the skin, awakening his mind. His breeches slipped down to his ankles while Tom's lips trailed over his quivering thighs. "I'll make it up to you."

A swish of tongue, delicate fingers, and a purr that softened the hard lines of his eyes, Tom brought Harry to a state of hardened bliss that only he could attend to. He looked up at the boy with his own innocence radiating forth, seeing Harry watching him perform the dirtiest of acts. "Do you like it? Do you wanna come, baby?"

"Yeah," Harry whimpered, melting on the spot. His back arched away from the shelf for more contact, his fingers gripped Tom's hair… Harry surrendered to the sweetness of firm lips; wet and swollen, leaving no part of him untouched. Fingers, slick with saliva, roamed and slipped and pressed between the cordate flesh above his thighs.

Blood throbbed in Harry's temples. There was a breathy cry of astonishment and an adolescent jerk of his hips. Fingers tangled in Tom's hair tightened, parting several from the scalp. The lovely tongue-bathing and stretching of muscle enraptured him with rushing force.

All was clinched. Harry had succumbed and would never look back. He would never look at another.

Harry sat over Tom's knees, cupping his face. A state of owlish inquisitiveness blinked back at his brother. Harry's pink tongue slid cautiously to taste the remnants glistening on Tom's lips. He took experimental warm licks, each more enthusiastic than the last. He rocked in Tom's lap, slowly grinding their bodies together in a way that he had never dared before. _Awakened, alive…_ Tom nearly creamed in his pants at the innocent trial of Harry's unctuous actions.

A glint of mischief began to sparkle around Harry's pretty face. "I liked it. Everything. I wanna do it to you."

Tom swallowed hard. His jaw set under Harry's hands. "Yeah?"

Harry nodded, no longer looking worried or frightened. He lashed his tongue out once more, tasting himself, catching Tom completely off guard. _He was looking at him with pure lust._ "Yeah, I wanna do that to you."

"Oh, God, okay" Tom rasped. "In my room."

Hardly dressing, Harry shoved his glasses on his nose and yanked his trousers up enough to walk in a straight line. He was wobbly and weakened with pleasure, and wanted so badly to do it all over again. Nothing had ever felt so delicious, so filthy and perfect. He had looked at Tom for the first time ever as he came, into his eyes. He loved Tom's eyes and how they spoke so much to him at that instant. "Hurry up," he spat, racing to the gates of the Restricted Section. "C'mon, Tom!"

Adjusting the throbbing bulge in his trousers enough to move, Tom caught his breath and slipped out into the library.

* * *

Tbc… 


	11. The Ghost of Tom Riddle

Chapter 11

The Ghost of Tom Riddle

June 1945

He had settled over a mound of feather pillows, his arms extended, spread-out across the bed. His head lolled into the soft stuffing to find more comfort. The bountiful lengths of his legs were bent at the knee, broadened by agile fingers slipping Tom's pants down past his hips. He rolled his hips up, drawn forward under the delicate pad of Harry's hand.

"Yeah, just like that."

Fumbling hands, awkward jerking motions, and bashful glances faded over time.

"Do you like that?"

Harry stroked the underneath of Tom's penis up and down with the feather-light tips of his fingers. He clasped it, eager to feel the jumps of greediness throb against his bare skin.

Tom's breath grew shallow and hot. "Yeah, that's really good."

"Tell me…" Harry said puckishly, giving the rounded swell of the head a soft flick with the pad of his thumb. He twirled an index finger around in the lovely thatch of inky hair nesting Tom's cock. "Why do you deserve this again? You've been such a bastard all week." The slight twinge of resentment in his tone did not go unnoticed.

Tom's tongue played along his bottom lip, wetting the chapped skin. "Because you love me," he replied.

Harry's lips hovered over the engorged phallus gripped tightly in his hand. He gave it a nimble lick and a soft, breathy blow. The head grazed along his cheek, his lips, his tongue, and blunts of his teeth. Harry drew back, watching him dubiously. He planted a hand on his brother's inner thigh, feeling the flesh mould under his massaging palm. "Oh, do I?"

"Mhmm," Tom hummed fervently, screwing his eyes shut. Goose bumps rose rigid on his thighs. They slid apart further, each knee nearly touching the mattress. "You love me so much."

"Yeah, I do." A tongue trailed warm saliva around the exposed, swollen corona while a thumb gently pulled back the susceptible foreskin. Candy-green eyes swathed in charcoal lashes fluttered innocently. Harry pursed his lips in a smirk, stalling further action. "Any other reason?"

"Bastard." Curling his fingers around the top of the bedstead, Tom canted his hips. "Because it makes me really happy, and you're so good at it. And I already did you, so you owe me," he grunted, desperate for more contact.

"Yeah, you did. I can still feel it." A swirl of taut tongue circled the torrid glans. Saliva and pre-come glistened on Harry's lips. "I really love your cock, Tom," he whispered, looking upon it with thirst. He kissed the head, suctioning his mouth over the slit. "I like hearing you beg."

_Break him down, build him back up. Possess him. Teach him who is boss… _

_You've got to be fucking kidding me…_

Tom had sought an amount power, needed some sense of control, and he had honestly tried it on Harry once or twice, but every occurrence would make his stomach cramp, his heart clench, and his world grow dim. Not to mention it nearly broke Harry's guarded bond of trust with him. It was a near fatal mistake, something he refused to attempt ever again.

He was pathetic. He was a failure, a miserable letdown when it came down to following Draco's insistent speech. Harry had him by the balls in every sense of the word. Nothing was going to change that. Lord Voldemort would not be pleased.

"We really should get on with it, I need to study," he whimpered through several unsuccessful bucks, but Harry was stone. "My N.E.W.T's and your O.W.L's are coming up, you know."

Turning his nose to the air, the pretty boy clicked his tongue and released his grip. "So study for your stupid exams. I'm not stopping you."

"No, wait—" _Shock. Panic._ Tom was butter. Nothing in the world felt as right as it did to melt under Harry's spectacular will. "Please, please, I need this, c'mon."

"Sorry, didn't catch that," Harry said, holding a hand to his ear. "Maybe if you begged a little louder…" He nibbled on his bottom lip while surreptitiously peeping on Tom from under his lashes.

Tom huffed. "Oh, shut up, idiot." The dip of his spine bowed, toes dug into the mattress. Fingernails clawed into the wooden carvings on the headboard. "Whatever, what do you want me to say?"

"Nothing," Harry sulked. "Nothing at all."

"Oh," Tom pouted. His cock smacked against his stomach with each frustrated jut. He sucked in his lower lip, biting it painfully hard while giving Harry the sweetest doe-eyed look he could muster.

Harry rubbed his hands together briskly to warm them back up. "Okay, okay," he conceded, unable to withstand the tug on his heartstrings. "You look so pathetic."

Tom settled back into the mattress, feeling the firm, spine tingling pressure returned with a kiss on the head of his cock. "Fuck, I love you."

Harry inhaled deeply. That heady musk and soapy residue was like an addictive drug. "I love the way you smell." He nuzzled his cheek into the soft dark curls while his tongue darted out over his lip to lap along the base of the shaft. He ran it up along the length between the tips of his fingers. The raw silk skin and throbbing veins were distended to the limit. Hot, sticky liquid leaking from the slit was swept up and consumed. Harry mewed. "I love the way you taste."

It hadn't even begun; Harry had barely put his mouth on his cock when Tom felt the river of euphoria begin to crack the dam of control and trickle into his pelvis. His breath came out in raspy, short puffs. His muscles tensed. Irises rolled back into his head, lips parted in a heavy moan.

Harry perked upward while his hand worked furiously over the shaft. He wanted to watch Tom come. His eyes were wide, unblinking, and his mouth opened in naïve awe. Tom's expression grew pained, he moaned in surrender, and a hot splatter of ejaculate coated his chest and oozed over Harry's fingers. He was so beautiful like this, so utterly beautiful. "Gods," Harry gushed unintentionally, tantalized with the way he brought the other boy so close to heaven.

"Get over here." Yanking the smaller boy into his shaky arms, Tom had yet to open his eyes or release the bedding curled up in his toes. The blood rushing through his veins, thrumming in his ears began to slow somewhat, clearing his head. Harry had snuggled into the crook of his arm and rested his head on his chest.

Tom looked down at him, aching. The ache for Harry never went away.

"When are you gonna let me try it?" he whispered, wondering if Harry was readily falling asleep. His breath was light and airy, his body fully relaxed. "You know… sex. I promise it won't hurt. We'll go really slow and everything. I won't hurt you."

"Never," Harry shot back, tensing. "Why isn't doing this good enough?"

"It is. I didn't mean it like that. I just want us to try everything, you know? It's amazing how close you can be. You actually become one being. It's more than pleasure… I mean, it would be between you and me. I just want us to be as close as we can be."

Harry exhaled a sleepy breath. "You're the one who keeps the distance, not me."

"Sorry, I won't bug you again about it." Tom sighed, and nibbled on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything else that might ruin the moment. Harry was absolutely right. As long as he kept a separation of wills, they could never be as close as they should.

Harry shifted closer. "You always say that."

Tom kissed the top of Harry's sweat-dampened hair. _I'm going to change. I'm going to make you see… _"Just go to sleep. We'll study later."

"M'kay. I Love you, Tom."

The feeling of a claiming mouth and heated breath on his earlobe brought back the most pleasant memories of their childhood. Tom's teeth clattered through a shiver of fulfilment. He closed his eyes once more feeling a whole world of possibilities expand inside of him like a bursting bubble of delight. Harry truly loved him, more than as a brother, more than as a lover. He loved him, all of him, the good and the bad, the right and the wrong. He loved the strengths and the flaws, the eagerness, the stubbornness.

And with all of his heart and soul, Tom loved Harry exactly the same way.

* * *

Gnawing brutally on the end of his quill, Harry's mind was racing at the speed of light. He could hardly pay anymore attention to Hagrid's blubbering testimonials of love for Mina Bulstrode, and as much as he wanted to help the poor lug out of the situation he was in, more pressing issues had arisen to prevent that. 

He was sure he had seen his father.

The man did not appear to be a ghost. He was solid, dressed in a handsome suit and wearing a brimmed hat that nearly covered the salt and peppery hair on his temples, he was unmistakable. Harry had nearly fallen off his broom when he spotted him, and in a blink of an eye – he had vanished. It made no sense at all. How could a dead man with no magical ability be alive and well and watching him practice his flying techniques at Hogwarts, no less?

Hagrid heaved a dejected sigh. "Oh, Harry, have yeh seen her eyes? They're like sapphires."

Desperate to get Tom out onto the pitch for a bit of fresh air, Harry had pleaded with him to try his luck at flying. Of course, Tom refused, asserting that flying was far too corporeal an activity and would in no way aid him in his studies. And, at first, he was sure it was Tom who was watching him. Standing alone on the grass, looking as tall as a Greek statue, it had sent fluttering butterflies bounding around in Harry's stomach. As quickly as it came, as he got closer to the earth, terror smote every happy little squirm.

"…like a bouquet of violets all bunched together. And ter think I nearly forgo' her birthday! Have yeh seen her eyes, Harry?"

Annoyed beyond reason, Harry dropped the gnarled quill on the desk and gaped at the half-giant. Trying to concentrating on anything had turned into a brilliant disaster. "I don't have time to think about Bulstrode's beady-little eyes, alright? What about my father?"

"An' her hair's like spun sunligh'…" Hagrid hadn't heard a word Harry had said. His mind was fixed on Mina. He was far too gone to be rescued. Harry needed to find Tom. He was worried that he might not believe him, or if he even believed himself. Insanity ran thick throughout his family. Who was to say that Harry wasn't starting to see things?

"Her hair's black, Hagrid," Harry attested, staring at him.

Hagrid shrugged. "Yeh know, figuratively speakin'."

Harry blinked. "Figuratively speaking? Her hair is black; it can't possibly resemble spun sunlight in any way at all."

"What about at nigh'?"

Holding up a finger, ready to scream bloody murder, Harry, instead, took a heaving breath and stood up from the library table. He shoved his books into his bag, no longer caring whether he failed every single O.W.L. He had to get out of there, get outside and breathe in some fresh air. "Go see Professor Slughorn like I told you. Go. Now."

Hagrid nodded absently. "All righ', Harry. An' if yeh see Mina, tell her I love her."

Shaking off the twisting dread lumped up in his stomach, Harry moved quickly through the rows of tables to escape. Turning back to look over the heads of the students furiously studying, hoping to spot a glimpse of Tom, he bumped hard into another person.

Landing on his bum, Harry looked up with an apology on his lips. "I… Oh, hullo, Professor," he said, taking Albus's outstretched hand. "Sorry about that, not really myself today." With glasses askew and books everywhere, he knelt back down to gather his belongings.

Albus smiled amusedly at him before waving his hand over the mess. Instantly, all of the parchment and texts nestled back into their sheath before Harry had even begun. "How are you doing in your subjects, Harry?" he asked him.

Mystified at the revelation of Dumbledore's power, Harry gaped in awe at the man. All of that talk Tom sputtered about how great he was had never fully sunk in until that moment. He slung his bag over his shoulder and snapped his gaping mouth shut. "I didn't know you could perform wandless magic, sir. That's brilliant!"

With a chuckle of mirth, Dumbledore's cheeks flushed bright pink. "A little… here and there when needed. Now, about those subjects," he continued, looking down his long, crooked nose. "I'm expecting to see top marks out of you, and it has nothing to do with you being Tom's younger and feistier brother."

"Course it doesn't," Harry said in a sardonic drawl. He made a little face, eliciting another jovial laugh from the older man.

Harry adjusted his glasses, and, suddenly, the baby blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles widened and narrowed in avid curiosity. A hand reached out, flipping away the messy fringe splayed over Harry's forehead, and a cool fingertip, bold in its action, traced along the zigzag line of the scar above his eyebrow. "Interesting," Albus murmured quietly, unable to take his gaze off of the mark. "How did you get this?"

Harry shrugged, frowning. He hated it. It was ugly and troublesome, always giving him problems. "No idea, sir, but I wish I didn't."

"You've always had it?"

"Yes, sir," he said blindly. "Why?"

Albus blinked from a daze and smiled. He clasped his hands in front of him and rocked on the balls of his feet. "How's your mother? Merope, was it? Merope Riddle."

Harry's jaw set. "It's Gaunt." _How do you know my father's surname?_

He threw up a mock look of fond reflection. It became obvious exactly how brilliant Dumbledore truly was, in more than just magical ability. He was always asking questions that jumpstarted the panic in Harry's insides. "She's fantastic, really."

_And she's completely mad, and tried to have sex with my brother so he had her locked back up. Bet you didn't know that, did you?_

Albus had either accepted the answer or chose to hide his uncertainly, because he smiled so brightly at that moment, as if the planets were aligned in perfect harmony. "That's excellent, Harry. May I ask, though, why you're leaving the library when you should be studying?"

Harry cringed. "Oh, I… er… I just forgot something in my room. I promise I'll study extra hard tonight."

Albus tipped his head. "I'm counting on it. As you were, my boy."

Taking one step before halting, Harry turned back around. If anyone would know the answer to what was nagging at his conscience, it would have been Dumbledore. "Professor?"

Still standing and watching him, Albus regained his smile. "Yes?"

"Erm… can Muggles be ghosts?" he asked him circumspectly. "And if they could, would they look transparent like the Bloody Baron, or solid like you and me?"

Dumbledore ran his long fingers over his grey and auburn beard. "Excellent question. Hmm, yes, I do believe that Muggles can become ghosts, and they would more than likely appear as the Baron does, but I cannot be positive. Why do you ask, Harry?"

"I was just wondering." He felt torn for trusting this man so much when Tom had warned him not to. "Well, it's just that…" The man was looking into his eyes the way Tom did when he was searching for truth or lies, but Harry pushed that aside. It was no secret that their father had died. He only hoped that Dumbledore didn't dwell any further into the subject as to why or how. "It's just that I thought I saw my father while… while I was…"The words were cut straight off as his hand flew up to his forehead.

_Pain_. It was so brilliant and unbearable; it seemed to split Harry's head in two. He turned away with a wince, doubling over, unable to contain the blistering yelp caught in his throat. He pressed his fingers over his scar, feeling sticky, warm blood trickle down into his eye and pool into his palm.

"Harry," Albus said with intense concern, gripping the boy's shoulder. "Harry, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I have to go," he whimpered, biting his lower lip. He ran toward the door, ignoring Dumbledore's concerned calling.

* * *

The corridors were all but deserted, and Harry was quite thankful for that. He mopped at the scar and his mouth with the sleeve of his robes, having retched twice on the spot. He pulled his wand free and dissipated the mess. 

"_Harry…"_

Harry gasped and spun around. It was him – it was Mr Riddle calling him. Dressed in the same chocolate brown suit and brimmed hat, his father reached out with a hand. "Come to me, Harry. Take my hand."

A horror settled over Harry, a cloak of spine-chilling cold that submerged his whole being. He stumbled backward, shaking his head in denial. It was apparent that Muggle ghosts were not necessarily transparent in form, as this man looked very much solid and very much alive. "You stay away from me," he said breathlessly. "I didn't do anything!"

The ghost pulled a wand out of his jacket. _And apparently they use magic… _The tip was pointed directly at him and the words of a Stunner Spell were forming on his lips. The thick tar of fear dissipated under Harry's legs. He screamed the word _"—Protego!—", _and turned and ran as hard and fast as he could, feeling the brunt force of the spell explode against the force shield surrounding him.

Harry thundered through the corridors. Blasts of light slammed against the walls all around him, trouncing the shield. The dungeon walls dripped with stagnant water and moss, making the stone floor a slippery entrapment to have to manoeuvre. The Slytherin common room was nearly in his grasp.

"You get the fuck back here!" the ghost shrieked at him from a distance. His pounding footfalls drew closer. Harry's heart thumped wildly in his chest. His fingernails scraped along the corner wall as he threw himself forward and called out the password as quietly as he could. The wall opened up, Harry stumbled through and dove onto the big green couch, into Tom's book-covered lap. Parchment scattered everywhere and Tom yelped with a start.

"What the hell, Harry?" he cried, thoroughly tackled against the cushions. He gripped the robes covering his brother's shoulders and shoved him upward to look at him. "Are you all right?"

Harry jerked around, scrambling to get his wand untangled from Tom's jumper in order to point it at the opening. Blessedly, it closed silently without another soul stepping inside. He sat, shaking, wand firmly outstretched in wait.

"He's alive," he whispered through heavy panting, at last replying to Tom's frantic questioning. "Or not… I dunno, Tom."

Tom now had his wand drawn. He pulled himself and Harry up slowly from the couch and wrapped a protective arm around his waist. "Take a deep breath and speak clearly when you inform me of what in the hell has spooked you so badly."

"Our father is trying to kill me," Harry said quietly. "He was out there – he had a wand."

"What?" Tom's wand hand dropped to his side. He rested his chin on the top of Harry's head, waiting for the smaller boy to relax. _Poor over-studying sod, he's completely lost it…_ "C'mon," he said softly, pocketing his wand and giving Harry a little tug. "Let's go to my room and talk about this."

The knots in Harry's muscles came untied. He nodded, letting his brother lead him away.

* * *

"You smell like vomit," Tom advised him, scrunching his nose. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the robes encasing Harry's form. "Take that off." 

"We have to tell someone," Harry said in a whinging breath. He pulled his robes over his head and balled the material up before tossing it to Tom. "This is a sign. He's going to haunt us forever."

Tom circled the chair he had shoved Harry into like a hawk. "Harry, do you fucking realise how much trouble I'll get into if we tell someone that I murdered the Riddles? Have you gone completely mad?"

Harry's mouth went dry. He shook his head violently. "You know I don't want you to get into trouble, but I think we can trust Professor Dumbledore. He seems like a very reasonable—"

Tom's eyes grew wide. "No! He, of all people, should never know our business! Don't you get it? He's been watching us! No, no… we're not telling anyone." He bent forward to look Harry in the eyes. "They'll send me to Azkaban Fortress for the rest of my life, and they'll release Morfin… And you would have to go back to him. Is that what you want?"

Harry sat in stunned silence. He shook his head quickly before focusing on the floor. "If you told them what happened… he was going to kill you, Tom. I think if you explained it to Professor Dumbledore, he would help us."

Tom wasn't sure whether he had laughed aloud or screamed at the irony, but Harry nearly jumped from his skin at the sound he emitted from the rush of emotion bursting like an A-bomb through his heart. He dropped to his knees in front of his brother, grasping the smaller boy's hands, holding them as tightly as he could to gain his full attention.

The poor kid looked like he had not only seen a ghost, but that it had dragged him down a flight of stairs by an ankle. His bloodied, pallid skin held an alarming tinge of green, he still smelled of bile, and his dishevelled body wavered on his chair. "Listen carefully; because I'm not going to say it again," Tom whispered as plainly as he could, "Mr Riddle did not try to kill me."

Bewildered, Harry cocked his head to the side. "Huh?"

"I'm telling you the truth. I used the Imperious Curse on him to make it look as if he were trying to kill me… so you wouldn't hate me for what I had to do. I murdered him. I flat out fucking killed the man."

"No," Harry said blankly. "No you didn't, shut up." He tried to stand up, but Tom shoved him back against the chair.

"Sit down, Harry, I'm not finished." He held Harry more forcefully. "Everything that happened that day, every detail was set by me," he confessed hotly.

Harry swallowed another lurch of bile inching up in his oesophagus. He was dizzy with disorientation and the throbbing pain in his head, verging on losing consciousness. His tongue felt thick, his words slurred. "Did you kill Nicolas Flamel?"

Tom gave him a sharp nod, sensing that odd twinge of regret surface once more inside of him. Harry looked as if he might retch all over him. He had turned a disconcerting shade of pasty-white and repeatedly swallowed and grimaced. "I ordered his death."

Harry tensed up. "Let go of me."

"Nah, you're not going anywhere," Tom told him, coolly, distancing himself from the guilty stabs of lament dying to escape. "If I let you go, you'll run off and do something stupid. Just relax now. I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"

"I know, dim-wit," Harry hissed. He fell forward in Tom's embrace. "I can't handle all of this right now. I need to lie down."

Tom wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight. Harry's cheek rested on his shoulder; he could feel the steadied flow of hot, moist breath against his neck. "There's this man…" Tom finally admitted, having never mentioned Draco Malfoy to Harry before. It wasn't that he didn't want to, it was that he couldn't. "I've seen so many things that I shouldn't. I know things I don't want to know."

"What are you talking about, Tom?"

He was entranced with sorrow, forced to do the unthinkable in order to ensure that this future for them would be one of greatness. "I killed our father on orders to do so. I didn't think I would regret doing it, and I liked it, but I do regret it." Taking a painfully deep breath, Tom slumped into Harry's embrace. "It's not a ghost you saw, Harry… it was me. You saw the older version of me."

"Not good, Tom. Thought I told you to keep your fucking yap shut on this." Both black-haired boys' heads rose and turned, eyes locked on the violent icy-grey irises staring them down. A sculpted stick of hawthorn was flicked menacingly in their direction. _"—Expelliarmus!—"_ Tom's wand ripped through his trousers and landed in Draco's hand.

Tom's eyes narrowed. He stood up and pushed Harry behind him. "Give it back," he growled.

"Are you going soft on me? After all the work I've put into this, are you trying to tell me you've lost your goddamn nerve?"

"I…" Tom's voice stalled as he watched another walk into the dormitory and stand beside Draco. He stood as tall as him, with raven-black hair speckled with grey, dressed sharply and smirking with disdain. His presence was terrifying. It was him. Lord Voldemort had finally made his appearance. Harry's grip on Tom's waist cinched.

Arrogance radiated around him like a thick cloud. He lit a cigarette and glanced to his side at Malfoy. "Care to explain to me what just happened?"

"This one," Draco hissed, again flicking his wand in Tom's direction, "told that one all of our little secrets. What are we going to do?"

"I had to tell him," Tom spoke nervously, hardly able to break eye-contact with his elder self. "It was driving him mad. He's so afraid."

"That's ridiculous," Voldemort said, waving it off. He moved forward and shoved Tom aside, revealing the hidden boy behind him. Draco quickly gripped Tom's wrist to keep him from interfering. "Ah, there you are," he purred lecherously, looking Harry up and down.

Tom felt as if he'd fallen into some sort of horrible ruse. He had murdered for these men, treated Harry how they wanted him to, and let them dictate his life as they saw fit. He was supposed to become this man. He was to become a Dark Lord, the conqueror of the Wizarding World, but he was nothing like that. He felt helpless and weak, powerless to stop the man from touching his brother.

Lord Voldemort flicked his cigarette across the room to slip an arm around Harry's waist, drawing him into his body. A charming smile curled on his lips while soft fingers brushed the blood-caked hair away from his cheeks. "You're trembling," he whispered.

Draco snorted as Tom bored holes of pure hatred through the Dark Lord. He jammed his wand into Tom's neck. "We really shouldn't linger, my Lord. The other students will be returning soon."

"Quite right." Wrenching his arms behind his back and clamping a hand around his neck, Lord Voldemort dragged Harry to the door. "After you," he cooed in mock tenderness, watching Tom struggle to remain composed.

* * *

Moving deeper into the corridors of the dungeon, where light would never touch and no one would hear their screams, Tom found his last vestiges of bravery flitting away. He and Harry exchanged nervous glances every few seconds. He had to stay strong for him. Harry was already in shock, and the impression both boys were gathering from this kidnapping was that neither would be walking away unscathed. He stopped, refusing to budge another inch. "Where are we going?" 

"I'm the only one asking questions," Draco snapped, twisting Tom's arm roughly upward behind his back. "Why haven't you killed Myrtle yet, hmm? Haven't we gone over this?"

"I don't want to," Tom spat back. "I'm not doing anything else for either of you."

"Oh yes you fucking will, believe me."

Harry flinched at the repulsion in Draco's words. The hand around his throat tightened, cutting off his supply of oxygen momentarily to keep him silent. "You don't want to interrupt them, baby, this is important," Voldemort whispered in his ear. "Sometimes Tom can be a little dissented and needs a bit of prodding. Now, be my good little lad and start walking."

"Are you really him?" Harry asked boldly, looking up at man standing behind him.

Lord Voldemort gave him a nod. "Of course I am."

Harry's stomach lurched. "I'm going to be sick," he managed.

"…I won't do it."

"I thought we had a good thing going on between us, Tom. Why are you resisting?" Draco shoved him into the wall. He grabbed a handful of hair, wrenching his head back. "You've already killed her; she just doesn't know it yet. It's a part of you, Tom. It's in your blood."

"No it's not!" Harry cried, infuriating the Dark Lord.

"Insolence," he breathed. Something was off, he could sense it. Both boys were growing increasingly wary of their intentions, needing to be dragged away from their room when they should have been able walk along side of them.

"Leave him alone and let him go!"

"Harry, please relax. Don't do anything rash."

"Shut up!" Voldemort pressed his fingers against Harry's throat, but this time it did not seem to frighten him as much. The boy thrashed about in his arms like a wildcat, drawing gaping stares from both Draco and Tom.

Losing concentration, Draco turned abruptly to assist his master. Tom balled his fist and swung hard, hitting the pointy-faced blond in the nose. The offending wand fell to the floor and rolled away into the shadows.

There were hands everywhere; tearing, ripping, scratching. This situation was growing quickly out of control.

It was obvious now, so bloody obvious that something here in the past had gone terribly wrong. Tom and Harry were not responding as they should.

The Dark Lord could not recall this happening, or this passion the two carried for the other. Never in a million years would he have foreseen this violent escalade erupt before them. He and Malfoy must have muddled something, somewhere.

"What in the hell is happening?" Draco shouted, cupping his bloodied face in horror.

The boys were no longer carrying this bond, this connection the way they should be to him; they had somehow become their own entities.

"Stun them!" he ordered, holding both boys by their necks. His back was against the wall for support. Draco immediately dropped to the dirty floor, hands outstretched and searching for any sign of his wand.

Harry screamed as white-hot pain pulsed through his scar. He looked up with the last vestiges of consciousness, seeing Tom shove his older self as hard as he could against the stone corridor. There was a flash of brilliant red light, then another, and all went black…

Draco wiped his nose off on his sleeve. He was shaking as hard as Harry had been when he first appeared. "What the fuck was that about?" he muttered, looking down at the two unconscious boys lying at their feet.

"Isn't it obvious?" Lord Voldemort brushed the dirt off of his suit before leaning back against the wall again to light a cigarette. He pulled on it and sighed, exhaling a stream of white smoke while he nudged Tom's body onto his back with his toe. The boy was beautiful. He could not take his eyes off of him. He stuffed his hand in his coat pocket, feeling the cold glass of a phial under his fingertips. It had taken a decade to perfect the potion. Its contents would now halt nearly all growth and aging, and it was ready for them. "We'll have to put a wait on the Elixir of Life," he said, turning away. "There's something wrong."

"I admit that they seemed a little riled, but I think it had more to do with Harry not knowing who we are, my Lord."

"That's the point, Draco," Voldemort said. His chest rose and fell with heavy breath. "Harry isn't the little lunatic he should be at this point. And Tom, he gets it, he finally understands. He loves this boy with an ardour I can not feel. Why don't I feel it?"

Draco gritted his teeth. To this point their journey to change time had been smooth. He knew there would be bumps and risk taking, and the possibility of failure was always right around the corner. They had agreed long ago that is they were unsuccessful; they would kill these two and start again, but that was a last resort. The boys were still young, still mouldable. The only thing Draco did not anticipate was the possible separation of their individualities. He hoped that this was not the reality. "Time travel has no rules, no laws, sir. I'm sure that if you give me another chance I can mend this blunder."

Lord Voldemort took one last look at his younger self, desperate to administer the potion and become a youth again, before pulling the Time-Turner free from his shirt. "We shall see," he said, twisting the dials. "Fix it."

* * *


	12. The Master's Boy

Chapter 12

The Master's Boy

The lavish candlelit study nestled the form of a young man hunched over his work. Fingers walked along the yellowing parchment scattered around his desk. Draco Malfoy was never one to give up on a challenge, but this paradox issue had him stumped. He spent weeks going over the journals he had gathered from the slaughtered historians who had rescued Merope Gaunt, learning everything he could about the risks and dangers of altering a timeline to serve ones needs. It dawned on him then; rather hit him in the head like a sledgehammer; that he and Lord Voldemort had majestically and completely fucked everything up.

It was a miracle in itself that both Tom and Harry were not only alive in the future, but had any recollection of their conscious pasts. The two men had somehow created a universe overlapping the other. There was no repairing it, there was no starting over. Going back any farther into the past would only add another layer upon the two, further distancing the boys from their future selves.

Somehow, he had to convince the Dark Lord to see this blunder for what it was.

"Any breakthroughs yet?" The voice was soft, almost passing Draco's notice.

He pulled off his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. Failure was not in his vocabulary. He felt cornered and wet behind the ears, but that wouldn't stop him from finding another way. He turned in his chair, facing the tall man. "You want the good news or the bad news first?"

Lord Voldemort sat down opposite Draco's desk. "I don't ever want to hear bad news."

_So I shouldn't tell you that you haven't learned a goddamn thing from any of this and you're creating your own paradox by refusing to learn what being a true human being is really about? Or that trying to force your younger self to learn this instead has made him rebel against you, and now he wants nothing more than to be as unlike you as humanly possible? Sure, you'll accept that…_

"Well then," Draco murmured, gathering his notes. "We'll start again tomorrow where your memories of the past begin to get blurry, which happens to be right after you left Hogwarts. Tom seems to care for Harry regardless of knowing that they weren't brothers and has only cryptic knowledge of Harry's powerful abilities. This is also the point in time where _you_ stopped feeling – for lack of a better word – emotions." _Why can't you see it the way he did?_

"I haven't stopped feeling emotion, Draco," Voldemort corrected him, annoyed. "I'm still very… I still feel…"

"_Come out and say it, Tom. You mean that you can't feel any emotion worth a drop of piss; anything that remotely resembles benevolence."_

Harry was here.

Without looking up, Lord Voldemort kept his grief-laden visage hidden. He carefully closed the biography, 'The Chosen One', resting open in front of Draco and shoved it under a stack of parchment. "What are you doing up so early, Harry?" he asked, forcing a small smile on his lips as he faced him.

Harry smirked. "Don't pretend to be concerned, you insult my intelligence."

Draco scattered to hide his work before Harry took any notice. He slipped everything into a drawer and locked it up as quietly as possible before standing up to address his comrade. "Evening, Harry," he said through a relieved sigh. He wiped the perspiration from his brow and licked his dry lips. _If he ever knew what they had done_…

He was their secret weapon, more precious than any material object in existence. A wielder of the elusive Love Magic, he was the confidant of Lord Voldemort and the only man in the Wizarding World who kept the opposing sides from obliterating mankind.

It was a great humiliation to the Dark Lord not to be able to understand such a gift. Dumbledore had not needed others to fight his battles; he could wield it, too.

Harry stood leaning in the doorway playing with a lock of his hair. He twisted the raven-black wisp around between his fingers before stuffing his hand into his pocket. He was eternally beautiful and clumsy, just as the Dark Lord had wanted him. His eyes shifted from one to the other impishly. "Malfoy," he acknowledged in a pleasant tone, tipping his head at the blond. His vision moved around the now empty desk, his curiosity piqued. "What are you up to? Can I help you with anything?"

"It's nothing, really," Draco mumbled under his breath. "Just some technical babble with that proposed ceasefire in order for that Weasley family to have a wedding in peace. We were considering it… for you. I know how fond you are of Hagrid and he's on the open guest list."

Harry's melancholy façade slipped. He scowled at the two, and his chest rose and fell with noisy hot breaths. "Why are you two are always hiding things from me? You trying to get rid of me? They invited me, too, and I'm going… and maybe I won't come back. How would you like them apples, hmm? If I'm not truly a part of this triad of trust you both boast about like idiots, why should I even bother with you? _Don't touch me!"_

Lord Voldemort had crossed the room in mid rant and put a hand on Harry's arm, gripping it tightly to prevent him from recoiling too far. "We've been over this before; you're just a little paranoid. Why don't you go back to bed and get some rest, hmm? Draco and I have this tedious paperwork covered."

The little glass containers lining the shelves around the room rumbled, and a clock on the wall burst apart. "Delusional narcissist…" Harry dropped his head against Voldemort's chest. The tears that had only just dried up began to flow freely once more.

_Delusional_…

Yes, perhaps he was for thinking that he could find a quick fix to learning the secrets of Love Magic by sending back the living embodiment and a great source of the stuff to his past. If only he could feel it for himself, but there was no time for such matters at the moment.

He had a war to run.

Voldemort petted his brother's hair softly. "Good boy," he praised him, feeling the strain disperse from Harry's muscles. He lifted his chin with a finger to wipe the tears away. "Such a good boy. Now off to bed with you, and take that potion on the night table."

Harry sniffled. "Yes, sir." He disappeared into the corridor, and Draco dropped back into his chair, relieved that nothing had been destroyed.

Lord Voldemort carded a shaky hand through his hair. "He's getting worse. No matter what I do we grow farther apart. Do something about this."

"Right." Draco closed his eyes in irritation. The Dark Lord would never realise that the true answers were as close to him as his own heart. If only he could see that. The truth lie hidden inside of him, if he could reach out and touch Harry the way he needed to be touched, and love him for what he was… not what he held for him. "Have you had a moment to think about what I said before? About trying to repair it now, in this time?"

"I'm offering you eternal life and this is what you come up with?" His wand was in hand, his jaw firmly set. "I suggest you get back to work. I want results, and I want them now."

Draco chewed on the inner portion of his cheek until he was sure the other man had left the room. "Yeah, great," he said, throwing a book across the room, "some real triad. I feel completely confident and secure…"

* * *

The thunderous ovation reverberated off of every surface in the Great Hall. Students cheered, pounded goblets on the tables, and clapped unanimously as Tom Gaunt, Head Boy and one of the most brilliant students to ever grace Hogwarts, stepped away from the podium to join his fellow Slytherins at their table. 

As proud as any living thing could be of another, Harry clapped his brother hard on the shoulder. "That was bloody amazing! Look at everyone; they're just so taken with you. You should run for Minister of Magic or something!"

"Bully that," Tom scoffed, shaking his head. "Although I wouldn't mind taking on a position in the—oh, thank you, sir, yes, I wrote the speech myself." He stood up from the interruption, tipping his head in appreciation at the headmaster and took his outstretched hand, giving it a firm shake. "It was a great pleasure being one of your students in the finest Wizarding School in the world. I will always treasure my time here under your tutelage."

Armando Dippet nearly squealed with giddiness. Everyone in the room knew that Tom was going to be someone very special some day. He was charming to a fault, highly intelligent; aspiring for perfection with every opportunity… he was damn near perfect. "And what are your big plans for the future, Tom? I admit that I'm not the only curious admirer at the teacher's table."

Tom hitched a thumb at Harry. "I was just about to tell my brother about a desire to work in the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries. I've become recently fascinated with the possibilities of creating and harnessing new forms of magic."

The headmaster placed a hand over his heart, awestruck. "An Unspeakable, you say? I think that's a lovely vocation for someone so brilliant, if only to work the ladder up to Minister himself! I will compose a letter of recommendation this very afternoon and send it off to Madam Marchbanks, a personal friend of mine. We're all very proud of you." He gave a small nod to Harry, letting a sparkle of hope twinkle in his eye. "We see a bright future for you two. Well, I will leave you children to partake in the feast. Good luck to you, Tom."

"Oh god but that's fantastic! You're going to get… a letter… hey, you awake?" Harry gave Tom a cheesy grin, catching his brother's liquorous leer on him out of the corner of his eye. The older boy had gotten lost in his own lust-filled world once again. It had been happening quite often lately. "Tart?"

"Hmm?" Tom blinked awake. "What?"

Harry held up a treacle tart in front of Tom's nose. "I asked you if you wanted to try a tart."

Tom's tongue swept over his canine as his eyes narrowed in hunger. He gently pushed Harry's offering away, leaned in close to his ear to take the lobe between his teeth. "I'd love one," he growled.

"Your room or mine?" Harry breathed, quelling to the tease of long fingers working their way up his robes from under the table. He dropped the tart while shifting precariously, parting his thighs to allow Tom's fingers better access to his needy parts, but they stopped.

"I won't make it that far." Tom stood up and smiled at his fellow classmates one last time before making his way toward the doors.

Harry stuffed his pockets with sweets and counted to ten in his head before standing, tripping on the hem of his robes like a clod, and racing to the doors to find his brother. He moved through the deserted hall in search, finding no sign of anyone else. "Tom?" he whispered, biting his lip. He touched the rail of the dungeon stairs, in mid-step until something large and strong grabbed him from behind.

"In here," Tom said harshly, dragging Harry along with him. His back hit a door. He reached behind him, fumbling for the knob while Harry struggled with the buttons on his brother's silver robes. Both boys fell into the darkness of the antechamber the instant the door parted from the frame, panting and clawing at the other's belt buckles.

Tom shoved Harry up against the wall. "I'm so fucking hard I'm about to burst."

Grinding back against Tom, yanking the blasted material off of his shoulders, Harry tried his hardest not to come in his pants. He could do this a hundred times a day; the feeling of wanting to press and rub into Tom's erection never left his mind. Their lips met. Harry moaned selfishly against Tom's virile tongue rolling around in his mouth, while his fingers tangled in once neatly-combed hair.

Legs were parted, lifted up to wrap tightly around hips. Fingers dug into bared skin. Tom slipped a hand between them to drive them both to orgasm without mercy. "You like that? You wanna come for me?" he grunted, driving Harry wildly mad with each delicious thrust.

Harry's choked, uneven panting pounded into Tom's ears like a symphony of angels. Oh lord how he wanted to tear the remainder of their clothing off and bend the boy over a desk. Harry was so good at giving pleasure, but the sounds he made when Tom forced himself on him were worth more than any silly old power he sought. This was power.

The soft click of the door went unnoticed under the heavy panting against their mouths.

"…do believe I left it in here."

"Well, that would be convenient—ohmygarters!"

Harry gasped loudly, mortified, and buried his head in Tom's shaking-mad chest as light pooled into the room and two tall silhouettes appeared in the doorway. Albus Dumbledore and Galatea Merrythought drew a collective breath, turned their heads away, and blushed furiously at the shocking sight they had just stumbled upon.

Tom sucked on his teeth and nonchalantly set Harry back on the ground. He was livid, trembling with hatred in struggle to buckle his trousers. "Fucking knock or something before you burst into a room."

Harry held his robes together and gathered up his remaining clothes off of the floor when Albus turned back around. "Finish dressing and be in my classroom in ten minutes, boys," he said calmly.

"I am so sorry, Professors," Harry confessed, flushing head to toe from a mixture of arousal and humiliation. His chagrin could hardly match the heat of choler boiling Tom's blood pitch black.

"Shut up, Harry," he hissed under his breath. "Don't apologise for anything."

Merrythought clutched her handbag as she shuffled past the boys to grab her peacock feather hat off of a table in the back of the small room. She placed it on her head as she retreated, thankful that it impaired her vision of the boys by the iridescent blue-green plumage that fanned out to shroud her face. Her final day as the teacher of Defence against the Dark Arts should have been a memorable one, but as she passed Tom, she stumbled over air and left the room in a rush. Curiously, Professor Dumbledore was certain she had glared in his direction.

"As I said, ten minutes," Albus asserted.

Tom frowned and gripped Harry's arm, pulling him over to the door. "You'd better not tell anyone, Dumbledore. I'm warning you."

"Tom!" Harry cried, shocked.

Albus stopped by the marble stairs leading to the first floor. "Or what, Tom, you'll alter my memory as you've done Professor Merrythought's?"

Tom smirked wickedly at him. "Right. The Memory Charm was nearly as devious as your conjuring her hat inside there with us when you opened the door, _sir_."

"He didn't do that," Harry piped up, looking a lot less apologetic than he had a minute before. "Did he?" He was growing wary of Albus and his strange intentions. He leaned into Tom's side, wrapping a protective arm around him. "We're all we have. We just don't want any trouble, sir."

Albus gave the boy a nod. A few students had filed out of the Great Hall then, disturbing the quiet of the room. He waved to Tom and Harry over his shoulder as he turned to ascend the staircase. "Come with me to my classroom; it's very close."

* * *

"Sit, both of you," Albus instructed, gesturing to the closest desk to his own. He watched the boys' movements as they took their seats, noting their heated expressions and the sense fear in their body language. The separation anxiety being demonstrated by them tugged ominously at the older man's heart. Nonetheless, he took to his high-backed chair and clasped his hands together on the desk, prepared to get to the meat of this experience. 

Neither boy was the exact embodiment of masculinity, but Dumbledore had never dwelled on matters such as sexual orientation. What worried him was the fact that they were brothers, brothers who lived together without any sort of parental supervision. It did not weigh right in his mind. Their upbringing, as he recalled from memory, appeared rustic and unclean. Their mother did not seem entirely stable, and someone in the home had slaughtered a number of owls trying to deliver Tom's letter. He sat on these thoughts, surreptitiously watching the boys huddle and whisper.

"How long has this been going on?"

Tom was plainly the overseer of the two. He had not set his eyes directly on Albus since their arrival. He was stiff and untrusting, and it crossed Albus's mind that he may, in fact, attempt to alter his memory of the incident if he allowed his guard down at any point. Tom was an enigma. It was clear now that he studied the Dark Arts and Legilimency, and might possibly know a fair bit of Occlumency, as well.

"That's none of your concern."

Harry, on the other hand, seemed quite nervous yet steadfast toward his older sibling. There was far more going on here than two silly boys experimenting with unrestrained teenaged lust. They were clearly lovers and had probably been so for a number of years.

"An underage boy in the care of his older brother _is_ my concern, Tom."

Tom was rock, but Harry squirmed a little too much. He had normal control over his emotions, setting a bit of ease in Dumbledore's mind.

"You can't separate us. We know all about you and Grindelwald's little affair, and we'll tell everyone if you try and keep us apart," Tom threatened coldly. He cocked a menacingly eyebrow at the man. "I've got proof."

"So, it was you…" Albus remained collected in the face of his blackmail peril. He smiled a light smile and leaned closer to the boys. "I would not have taken you for a common thief of private possessions, Tom. And, you, Harry… were you a part of this?"

Harry shook his head curtly. "No, sir. Tom wasn't looking to steal anything, he was only curious. And he isn't going to tell anyone about you either. We've got bigger problems than that."

"Shut your mouth," Tom whinged, nudging the boy's ribs. "That's our business!"

"No, we should just tell him everything," Harry whispered, but not quietly enough for Dumbledore to miss it. There was urgency in his voice. Something more was going on here than they were letting on, and Albus became intrigued to no end. "You told me yourself he was powerful, Tom. Maybe he can help us."

"Shut up, Harry."

Albus nodded. "Perhaps I can help. I will keep all that is said here to myself."

"I couldn't care less what you say," Tom growled. "I don't trust you."

Harry dropped his head over his folded arms, sighing. They were on their own. The slightest amount of faith Tom had had for anyone evaporated since that strange day three weeks before. The two men that had dragged them into the bowels of the dungeon hadn't even bothered to alter their memories or put them back to bed. It was frightening to think that they were the future… their future. Harry refused to believe that man was his brother. He wanted to tell, he wanted help, but he had promised to believe in Tom because Tom said he could handle it.

"Let's get out of here, Harry. We need to start packing."

"Sit. There's still the matter of whether or not you are taking advantage of your brother, Tom."

"I'm not taking advantage of anyone! Mind your fucking business, old man!"

"I'm inclined to believe otherwise."

"Stop it!" Harry cried, looking up from the desk. The tension in the room was thick and unbearable. Harry feared that Tom might lose his cool and do something stupid if he didn't put an end to this meeting. Tom had not been himself. The enormous strain of finding out that he was merely a pawn had put a great damper on his ability to remain calm. Wild magic pulsed like around him in a raw aura of electricity. "I swear he's not taking advantage of me, sir."

Tom gripped the upper portion of Harry's arm and hauled him out of his seat.

"Harry, if you change your mind—"

"He won't!" Tom muttered, scowling.

As he was pulled from the room, Harry turned to lock eyes with the older man one last time. Instead of being angry or doing something to stop them from leaving, Albus merely smiled at him.

* * *

The train ride to King's Cross the next day had been unusually unpleasant. Tom hadn't spoken two words to Harry during their final day of school. They ate last their last pudding in the Great Hall together in silence, packed up their belongings in their own rooms, and shuffled along toward the train in the crowd of students like a herd of zombies. Scores of classmates congratulated Tom on his success and stuffed notes in his pockets so that he could contact them if he ever needed a thing. 

Harry got the pleasure of noting that most of the Death Eaters had been eagle eyeing him since he left the front doors of the castle. He felt so utterly out of place as he took his seat across from Tom in their compartment, only to be yanked into the seat next to him to insure that no other person sat beside him. Nott, Yaxley, and Rookwood shoved in soon after, taking up the opposite side.

Harry sighed. There would be no talking to Tom, and there was a distinct possibility of a hexing or two if any of his sycophants started up with him.

"So, what are you going to do about him now that you won't be there to watch him?" Nott asked to break the frigid silence, tossing his head in Harry's direction. "I heard that Ogden and Meadowes had put him on the top of the 'Slytherins Most Wanted' board in the Gryffindor common room. Somebody's in trouble."

Harry yawned with annoyance. "Hagrid tore my name off that bloody thing weeks ago."

"He's not going back," Tom informed them. The smirks faded, and Harry stiffened beside him. Tom hugged him around the shoulders for comfort. "There's no need for him to finish school now, I'm taking care of us," he added calmly. There was no way in hell he would put Harry back into a place where Dumbledore ruled, and Lord Voldemort seemed to be able to enter and leave without detection. They had no one but themselves now to look after them.

"We'll talk about it later," Tom whispered in his ear. "Is that all right?"

Numb, Harry absently nodded. He did understand the reasoning, but that didn't make it hurt any less. He would miss the beautiful school and his friend, Hagrid.

* * *

_Through a gasp of pain, Harry clutched his arm. _

_Scar? _

_It was his arm that was injured, but it was his scar that throbbed. Tom was standing over him nibbling on his bottom lip. His friends were waiting for him outside. Harry could hear them calling his name through the copse of the trees. "Harry, talk to me. Why won't you tell me what happened? I won't go if you really don't want me to…"_

"_Just go, Tom, its fine. Have fun with your friends." Everything felt so familiar… but different. He was home. He was eleven years old again and in the house in Little Hangleton. It was dark and cloudy outside, and cold… so very, very cold._

_He wouldn't look at Tom. He stayed huddled up in the corner of the bed, wrapped in a quilt. _

"_Harry, please." Tom's fingers ghosted over the profile of Harry's face, so swollen and bloodied. "Please tell me who did this to you."_

"_Who do you think? I can't move my arm," Harry whispered through a whinge of pain, at last looking at him. "But I don't want you to tell mummy."_

_Tom's features were blurred. He stood from the tiny bed and went to the cupboard to retrieve a few books. "Give me a moment," he soothed, while leafing through a text. He ran a finger down one of the pages and stopped. "I've got a spell here that'll mend it." _

_The voices outside the house faded as the wind picked up and howled through the holes in the roof. Harry looked around the room, at his mummy's empty bed. He could hear bedsprings sagging and groaning in the next bedroom. Morfin was grunting like a stuck pig; primal, louder and harder, in rhythm with each wretched creak. "I wanted mummy to sleep in here tonight but Morfin got angry…"_

"_Did he?"_

_The scar, bloody fucking scar hurt so much… "Yeah, he said I'd ruined his life."_

"_And you haven't?" Tom looked up from the book, but it wasn't Tom anymore. "You don't think you're the ungrateful little half-blood sonofabitch he always said you were?"_

_Harry strained to see Tom's face. "What?"_

_He had grown. He was as tall as the room and his face had changed. He was as white as a skull. An unnaturally long finger pointed at him accusingly. "…the filthy fucking little bastard he saw you for? We all know the truth, Harry. You aren't even a Slytherin. The only reason you're alive right now is because I chose to give you a home. I chose your future."_

"_Who are you?"_

_The book fell to the floor. "What did you do to change time?"_

"_Nothing, leave me alone—get out!"_

"_Don't you dare close your mind to me. You tell me what you've done or I will snuff out your lives without a thought. Your mother is first!"_

Searing pain erupted from his scar. Blinding white light filled the room. Harry woke with a scream, rigid and covered in sweat. Tom jumped awake. "Harry—what, what?" he cried, pulling the boy into his arms.

"_You'll be sorry…"_

Harry quickly composed himself. There was nothing he or Tom could do to stop the nightmares outside of stocking up on Dreamless Sleep Draughts. "I'm all right," he said, tucking his trembling hand between his knees. "It's nothing; just another stupid dream."

It was growing excruciating, these awful dreams and the excessive worry that Professor Dumbledore would burst into their home and drag him off to an orphanage. They had only been home for six days. Harry had a little over a month before he turned sixteen, but the wait for something coming, something big, was heavy in the air. There was a calm hovering above, a perverted peace that seemed so completely undeserving, and only his dreams gave any indication that a massive storm was brewing.

Tom petted his hair, feeling the tension ease from his muscles. "It's going to be okay. I'm going to find a way to keep us safe," he said in a quivering whisper, worried to all get out. That bastard was attacking his mind so viciously every night. It would only be a matter of time before Harry lost his grip on reality. "I would never do this to you. I would never frighten you like he's doing."

Harry mewed in his embrace. "I know."

It took a lot of courage to admit to Harry that he might be wrong. He could hardly admit it to himself. The fear was so great, wondering how long they would last before someone found out all of their dirty little secrets and lock them both up in Azkaban. "Starting tomorrow, I'm going to teach you how to keep those dreams out of your head. And I'll… I'll think about what you said. If it gets any worse, I'll send a letter off to Dumbledore. Maybe he'll know what to do."

"You mean that?"

"I said I'll think about it." At one time in his life not too long ago he had dreamed of finding ways to prevent death and use his talents for upping his and Harry's status in the world. To live like kings, to never look back at the little rogues that they once were. Those matters were hardly in his thoughts anymore. "We'll try Occlumency first, okay?"

Harry curled his fingers around Tom's neck. "Course."

* * *


End file.
